Resident Evil: Double Amber
by Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom
Summary: Only one person in the RPD believed the STARS members' account of the Arklay mansion incident. That person was Lieutenant Amber Bernstein. This is her story...
1. The Last Goodbye

**Resident Evil: Double Amber**  
A fanfiction by the Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom

**Summary:** Only one person in the RPD believed the STARS members' account of the Arklay mansion incident. That person was Lieutenant Amber Bernstein. This is her story…

**Rating:** PG-13 **Category:** Horror/Angst

**Disclaimer:** I don't know why I bother doing these. No-one reads them, except maybe lawyers. But just for form's sake, I'd better tell everyone that I DO own Resident Evil, but only because I bought a copy of the game from my local computer store. If I didn't own a copy of Resident Evil then I wouldn't have played it and wouldn't know anything about it, so I wouldn't be able to write fanfics about it...

Okay, I'll clarify. I played no part in the design or production of Resident Evil. I did not come up with the idea. The copyright does not belong to me. I do not own the locations, or Umbrella, or the RPD, or the T-Virus, or any of the characters in this fic except a couple of extras and of course Amber Bernstein, who is mine. And anyone using her without my say-so is going to get their ass kicked through the nearest wall.

**Author's Note:** Amber Bernstein made her debut in my first Resident Evil fic, "Resident Evil: Project Lucifer". This is the story of what happened to Amber before she ran into Jack and Lisa, starting with the aftermath of RE1 and ending where Project Lucifer begins. Oh, and as well as being a prequel of sorts to Project Lucifer, this is also something of a companion fic to noctorro's "Act 4: Biohazard: The Prelude To Horror", which is excellent and should be checked out - it's a must for Project Lucifer fans. Many thanks to noctorro for letting me borrow Kenny. Thanks also go to Metal Harbinger for letting me borrow David McGraw and Jake Cavanaugh, and the TREX for the loan of Sean Hayter in chapter 13.

**Warning**: This fanfiction contains scenes of explicit violence and gore. What were you expecting, fluffy bunny rabbits? Come on, this is Resident Evil, for crying out loud. If there are any fluffy rabbits in this fic, they'll probably be eating someone alive…

**Resident Evil: Double Amber  
by the Hyperactive Hamster Of Doom**

_Dedicated to noctorro, Metal Harbinger and Desertcross4, three incredibly talented fellow authors who wrote my humble characters into their own stories with great skill and panache. I hope you both enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed yours. :)_

_And to Matthew, as always._

**1: The Last Goodbye**

**Downtown Raccoon City  
Friday 24th July, 1998**

Amber opened her eyes. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows of her apartment. It looked like it was going to be yet another beautiful day in her hometown, Raccoon City.

She glanced at the little alarm clock on her nightstand. It was just after six. She rolled over and saw the sleeping form of her boyfriend, Joseph, who as usual had stolen all the bedclothes.

"Hey, Joe," she yawned. "You awake?"

An unintelligible grunt from somewhere in the pillows; that, presumably, meant no.

"'kay. I'll make breakfast."

Amber sat up and swung her legs off the end of the bed. Questing feet found their way into a pair of pink fluffy slippers and made their way over to the bedroom door. She donned a pink bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, and disappeared into the bathroom.

A shower followed, then the application of toothpaste to toothbrush, and toothbrush to teeth. Amber smiled brightly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and proceeded to brush her hair.

She hated her hair. Joseph, however, loved each and every one of the long strawberry-blonde curls. He was always telling her never to cut her hair shorter, or let it grow longer, or dye it or straighten it - that she should just leave it exactly the way it was.

It was all right for _him_, she thought, struggling to free the hairbrush from the clutches of several damp curls. _He_ wasn't the one who had to restore order to the chaos every morning. Curls were a nightmare to brush. Every tangle got caught, and the frustration of having to prise the hairbrush from her hair every five seconds elicited screams of rage and frustration that occasionally brought Joseph running into the room, to check that she wasn't being murdered by an axe-wielding maniac.

Amber went back into the bedroom in search of her uniform. Amber the average-Joe citizen always left her clothes in untidy heaps all over the bedroom floor, but Lieutenant Amber Bernstein, who was proud to be part of the Raccoon Police Department, took good care of her uniform - it was currently hanging up in the closet, clean and fresh and ironed to perfection.

Her boyfriend, Joseph Frost, was also part of the local police force - more specifically, he was a member of the RPD's Special Tactics And Rescue Service. Captain Wesker, who had personally set up Raccoon City's branch of STARS, had recently promoted him from Bravo to Alpha Team; Joseph had come home beaming with pride.

When Amber had finished dressing, she took a long, lingering look at the sandy-haired young man sleeping in her bed. A smile crept across her face. She never got tired of looking at Joseph, even though they'd been together for some time now.

"I love you," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. He didn't move a muscle; he was a sound sleeper, and probably wouldn't be awake for at least another hour.

The first thing that Amber did every morning when she went into the bright little kitchen was turn on the radio. She liked the local radio station, Raccoon FM, even though they played a little more Country and Western music than she thought was strictly necessary.

_"Good morning, Raccoon City!"_ said the radio presenter cheerfully._ "It's six twenty-five a.m. and it looks like another beautiful day here in our beautiful town! Here's the early breakfast news with Katie Gibbs…_"

The second thing that Amber did every morning was make coffee. Black with two sugars for herself; milk and three sugars for Joseph if he was staying over. She opened the fridge to get out the milk.

_"Less than 24 hours after being dispatched to Raccoon Forest to investigate the disappearance of a group of hikers, the STARS Bravo Team has mysteriously vanished. Residents in the nearby mountain town of Arklay reported seeing a helicopter go down somewhere over Raccoon Forest, but were unable to give police an exact location. Martin Levitt reports."_

Amber almost dropped the milk carton in shock. She put down the carton rather shakily on the counter and stood where she was, listening to the radio and feeling cold dread slowly envelop her heart.

"_Well, I'm here in Arklay this morning, where several members of the public are claiming to have seen a helicopter go down over the forest, towards the base of the Arklay Mountains. Accounts differ as to whether or not the helicopter exploded on impact, but we won't know for certain what happened until a backup team is sent into Raccoon Forest to investigate. According to the RPD, the STARS Alpha Team is being dispatched this evening to begin the search. Back to you, Katie."_"

"Thank you, Martin. In other news, there have been more dog attacks in and around the Raccoon Forest area…

Amber turned off the radio, not wanting to hear any more. She swallowed, hard. She didn't know how she was going to tell Joseph what had happened, especially since no-one seemed to _know_ what had happened. The Bravo Team helicopter had gone down - what did that mean? Where were they now? Were they alive or dead? And why had their helicopter crashed?

She pulled herself together and finished making the coffee. There were sounds of movement coming from the other room now - the creak of floorboards, a yawn, footsteps heading towards the bathroom. It seemed that Joseph had just woken up.

Pushing a stray curl out of her face, Amber started to make breakfast. It was usually Joseph's job to make breakfast, but today she felt like doing it herself.

No more cereal left. But that was all right. She wasn't in a cereal mood today. Toast? No, Joseph didn't like toast. But he did like - yes, that was a good idea.

Amber trawled through the cupboard, letting out a shriek as a jar of peanut butter hurtled towards her head. She caught it just in time, and put it back on the shelf, only to dislodge a box of cookies instead.

"Cookies?" she said, frowning and picking up the box. "I didn't buy any cookies…"

But of course she'd asked Joseph to go grocery shopping for her this week, while she went to the hair salon – and Joseph had a sweet tooth. Which explained the unexpected presence of cookies.

Amber shrugged, and pushed them aside. She'd eat them later and then deny that they'd ever existed.

The sound of running water and a burst of song indicated that Joseph was in the shower. He was into old Joni Mitchell songs at the moment; this time it sounded like "Big Yellow Taxi".

"_Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone…_"

It was a nice song. Pity Joseph was tone-deaf. Still, she loved him, even though he stole all the bedclothes, and couldn't sing, and filled her kitchen cupboards with junk food – and left the syrup bottle in weird places like the fruit basket.

"Oh, Joseph," Amber sighed. "Why can't you just put things back where you found them? No wonder I can't find anything around here…"

Joseph emerged a few minutes later, wearing the same jeans and rumpled shirt that he'd thrown on the floor last night; he was drying his hair with a towel. His face lit up at the sight of her. Amber in turn felt her heart give a little flutter, just as it had done when she met him for the very first time.

"Morning, beautiful," he said warmly. "You sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Amber replied.

"Babies stay awake half the night," Joseph pointed out.

"So did we, if you recall," said Amber, smirking. "I heard the old lady downstairs banging on the ceiling and yelling at us to shut up."

Joseph snorted. "Huh. Yeah. Banging on the ceiling with one hand, and using the other to hold the water glass to the ceiling so she can hear better. I know her; she's one of my grandma's friends. Nosiest woman who ever lived."

He sniffed the air.

"Hey, something smells good!"

"Yeah, I made breakfast," said Amber.

"Aww, Ambie, that's sweet. You shouldn't have," said Joseph. "It's my job to make breakfast. You know I hate the whole "sweet demure little woman cooking and cleaning for her manly man" thing. It's so old-fashioned."

"Who's demure?" laughed Amber. "Joe, I don't cook for you because I _have_ to. I do it because I _want_ to. I love you. Besides, I like seeing the smile on your face when you find out I've made you pancakes."

Joseph beamed.

"You made me pancakes? I love pancakes!"

"You see? Because I love you."

"I love you too, babe. Man, these look good…"

She watched him eat for a while, smiling outwardly to conceal the worry within. All the while, she kept trying to find the right words to break the news. She didn't know how she was going to tell him what had happened, but she knew what his reaction would be.

"Joe?" she ventured at last.

"Hmm?"

"I - something bad's happened to Bravo Team," she blurted out.

Joseph abruptly stopped eating. The fork he was holding slipped from his hand, bounced off the table and landed with a clatter on the tiled floor.

"Their helicopter went down in Raccoon Forest last night," said Amber, trying not to hear the words coming out of her own mouth. "I heard it on the radio just now. They're sending in Alpha Team to investigate tonight."

"Oh God," said Joseph, very quietly. His face was ashen.

There was a long and terrible silence.

"Maybe we should go to work," said Amber, to break the silence. "Chief Irons says he never tells the press everything. Perhaps they know more about what happened down at the precinct."

Joseph nodded.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

He pushed his plate away, the rest of his breakfast left uneaten. If Amber hadn't already noticed that he was shaken, then that was definitive proof - normally Joseph had a voracious appetite and couldn't be put off his food by anything.

"Sorry, Amber," he said, with an apologetic glance at his plate. "I'm not really hungry any more."

Amber just nodded. She understood perfectly.

"Keys," said Joseph suddenly.

He stood up and made his way to the living room. Amber watched from the doorway as he searched the room for his car keys.

"They're on the coffee table," she pointed out.

Joseph nodded, turned around, and picked them up, along with the jacket that he'd left draped over the back of the couch the previous night.

"Let's go," he said.

They left the apartment and went down the stairs in silence. Joseph looked shaken, as if he'd just escaped death in a terrible car crash.

"Are you all right?" said Amber, as they reached the last step.

He nodded glumly.

"That's an interesting way of shaking your head," said Amber.

Joseph didn't smile; he seemed too wrapped up in gloom to even notice that she'd said anything. He simply crossed the hallway, his shoes squeaking on the black and white floor tiles, and he opened the front door.

They emerged, blinking, from the dim light of the apartment building and stepped out into the early morning sunshine. They hadn't even finished going down the steps when Joseph let out a groan.

"_My car!_"

Joseph's car had been pristine when he'd parked it outside the apartment building the previous night, but now it was covered in graffiti from top to tyres. Amber knew right away what had happened: a gang of bored teenage skaters with a set of spray-paints and too much time on their hands had seen the car and descended upon it like vultures flocking to a dead horse. "Tagging" was commonplace in downtown, used as a way for the gangs to mark their territory.

She bit her lip and glanced awkwardly at Joseph. Her boyfriend was shaking with suppressed rage - but it wasn't suppressed for very long.

"Those little bastards tagged my car!" he yelled. "Just _look _at it! Do they have any _idea_ how much it costs to get a new paint job these days? I'm going to have to get the whole thing resprayed!"

Amber said nothing. She privately thought that the rainbow of graffiti was a big improvement on the bland green-grey paint job, and it had definitely been done by kids with a certain degree of artistic talent - these were no mindless scrawls but multi-toned pieces of urban art, the kind that you might find on the cover of a hip-hop album. Nevertheless, she made some vaguely soothing noises and walked up to the stricken car to survey the damage.

"Looks like the PriMadonnas again," she reported. "The Sk8boarders don't tag cars any more; they've been in enough trouble with the Chief lately. And Underworld have been lying pretty low ever since that Russian kid got shot a couple of years back, so they wouldn't want to attract any more attention to themselves."

"How do you know it's the PriMadonnas? Could be the Street Rats," said Joseph.

"No, it's not the Street Rats. They've never given us any real trouble. They're only kids anyway. A bunch of them get hauled in off the street every now and then, but you know how the Chief is - nine times out of ten, they didn't do anything except get on his nerves. Usually we just send them straight back home to their mothers."

"You sure it's not them?" said Joseph suspiciously.

"Positive," said Amber. "Come and look at this."

Joseph hurried over to the other side of the car and stared at the spray-painted symbol covering one of the doors.

"So what?" he said.

"This is the PriMadonnas' tag," said Amber, pointing to the symbol - a "P" and "M" in shocking neon pink, with a small oval above them and a squiggle that looked like a 3 on either side, with one of the 3s reversed. "The P and M are self-explanatory, and the wiggly lines and the circle are meant to represent a halo and angel wings. Now if this was Underworld's work, then this tag would be a dark blue circle with an arrow underneath it, pointing up, and the Sk8boarders' tag is an interlocking "S", "K" and "8" in bright green. And the Street Rats don't tag anything outside of Coburg. Definitely the PriMadonnas."

Joseph made an animal noise in the back of his throat.

"I'm going to kill those little - "

"It's okay, Joe," said Amber reassuringly. "I know where they hang out. I'll go and have a word with them after work, okay?"

"You think they'll listen to you?" complained Joseph. "They _hate _cops. All the skater gangs do."

"Oh, the PriMadonnas are good kids, most of them," said Amber. "They just need a little discipline and some better ways to direct their artistic talents. And they do listen to me, mainly because I'm one of the few cops in the RPD that doesn't treat them like scum. But enough about skaters. Come on, we'll be late for work…"

Still grumbling, Joseph got into the car. As Amber got into the passenger seat and put on her seatbelt, she caught a muttered phrase about skaters and vandalism.

"I wouldn't complain too much if I were you," she said. "They _like_ you."

"They tagged my car because they _like_ me?" said Joseph shrilly.

"Sure," said Amber. "If they didn't, there'd be bricks through the windows and you wouldn't have a stereo any more. They probably just figured that your car needed a makeover. And you have to admit, it does look a lot more interesting now."

"They could have asked first," said Joseph sulkily. "I'd have got them to do a portrait of Tupac Shakur on the hood."

They drove the rest of the way to the precinct in silence. Amber stared out of the window, watching downtown Raccoon City roll past her.

_And I thought it was going to be such a good day today…_

After some minutes, they arrived outside the wrought-iron gates of the Raccoon Police Department.

"You get out and report for duty, Ambie," Joseph told her. "I'll go round and park the car, okay?"

"Sure," said Amber, and kissed him on the cheek. "See you in a minute."

She unclipped her seatbelt and got out of the car. Joseph pulled the door shut behind her, and drove off in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Amber hid a smile when she caught sight of the slogan that had been scrawled onto the rear of the car: "If You Can Read This, You Just Got Tagged By The PriMadonnas".

"Nice touch," she said, grinning.

Amber turned around, opened one of the gates, and walked through into the courtyard. As she crossed the gleaming flagstones, she looked up at the police station. It was a large, imposing building with a vaguely Gothic architectural style, although she suspected that it was a fairly recent construction. It was only three storeys high, but somehow it looked taller. She privately thought it was a rather ugly building - it gave her the creeps, especially when she was on the night shift, but it wasn't too bad in daylight.

Above the doors, the flag with the RPD emblem was fluttering in the breeze. Amber smiled a little when she saw it. She opened the front doors and went inside.

Whether it was bleak midwinter or the height of summer, it was always chilly inside the RPD's lobby; it was as if the whole room had been built to function as the building's air conditioning system. Even from here, Amber could see the secretaries, pretty in short-sleeved blouses and summery skirts, shivering in perfect unison at the front desk.

She'd seen this place five times a day, every day for the past three years, but without really knowing why, she stopped to look around.

The lobby was a huge room, three storeys high, with bare stone walls that seemed to emit cold. Sunlight was streaming in through a stained glass window set high in the opposite wall, leaving little spots of colour on the tiled floor, but not letting in enough light to stop the room from looking gloomy.

In the centre of the room, placed in front of the big semicircular front desk where the secretaries worked, was a marble fountain with a large statue of a woman carrying an amphora. Water was trickling from the amphora and into the large pool beneath it. The woman's face was beautiful in a fixed and emotionless sort of way, reminding Amber vaguely of an angel statue that she'd seen in a cemetery once.

Looking up, she saw the mezzanine landings on the two upper floors, bordered with fine oak balustrades and unusually busy at this early hour. Looking back down again, she saw the RPD emblem emblazoned across the floor in front of the fountain. It was starting to look a little faded now, thanks to the dozens of people who made their way back and forth across the lobby every day.

"'Scuse me," said someone gruffly behind her, and Amber jumped. An old and rather plump man carrying a mop and bucket was trying to get past her. She relaxed when she saw him.

"Oh, it's you, Gus," she said, relieved. "You scared me."

"Sorry about that," said Gus. "Nice day, ain't it?"

"It's beautiful outside," agreed Amber. "Gus, did you hear the news on the radio this morning?"

"Yep," said the old man, unbuttoning his worn overcoat and draping it over the railings by the steps. He dunked the mop into the bucket of discoloured water and started swishing it around on the floor. "Don't know much more 'bout it than you, though. Bravo Team's chopper went down over the forest and they're sending out a search party to look for 'em tonight. Shame, really. I know one of the guys from Bravo Team. Name of Richard, I think. Nice guy. Always walks round the other way if I've just mopped the floor."

He shrugged. "Well, can't stand around and chat all day. These floors don't clean themselves, y'know. Have a good day, kiddo."

"You too, Gus," said Amber, walking over to the reception desk.

There were three secretaries on duty at the reception desk today, all of them trying to pretend that they weren't freezing cold in their pretty summer clothes. Amber approached the one that looked slightly less busy than the other two.

"Morning, Bernice," she said, leaning casually on the desk. "You hear the news this morning about Bravo Team?"

Bernice nodded her head, accidentally dislodging her glasses. She picked them up off the counter and cleaned them with a handkerchief, then set them back on the end of her nose.

"Yeah, I heard. Their helicopter went down, right?" she said.

"Yeah. Does anyone here know anything more about it?" said Amber.

"Well, the rest of the STARS team do, I guess," said Bernice. "They're in the conference room right now being debriefed, but don't disturb them. Captain Wesker gets pretty tetchy when he's interrupted. Boy, I'd hate to be the one who gets on _his_ bad side."

"Same here. Thanks, Bernice. Keep up the good work."

Bernice nodded again, and returned to her paperwork. Amber headed for the double doors near the desk, her thoughts entirely occupied with how she could gatecrash the STARS mission briefing without incurring the wrath of Wesker.

"… package for Mr Albert Wesker."

Amber turned round to see a postal worker dropping a large parcel onto the reception desk.

"Oh, thank you," said Bernice, looking a little flustered. "I'm afraid he's busy at the moment, so if you could just leave it in his in-tray, that would be really - anyway, you go through that door into the office, the door on the right leads into the evidence room, go through there and into the hallway, then up the stairs, right to the end of the hall, through the door next to the statue, and the STARS office is the first door on your left. I'll just sign for the package - "

She reached for the clipboard in the postal worker's hand, but the man snatched it back abruptly.

"Instructions were for Mr Wesker to sign for it _personally_," insisted the postal worker.

Bernice looked even more flustered.

"Well, um, he's in a meeting right now… I really shouldn't bother him, it's very important, and I'll get into trouble if I - "

"Look, lady, I don't have all day," snapped the postal worker. "Just get him in here to sign for this package so I can get out of here. I've got a whole bunch of packages waiting outside in the van - they won't deliver themselves, you know."

"Please, sir, we're very busy today!" protested Bernice, her cheeks flushing slightly as she raised her voice. "It's really not possible to - "

"I'll do it."

Both postal worker and secretary turned to look at Amber, who suddenly realised that the words had come out of her own mouth.

"Yeah," she repeated slowly. "Yeah, I'll do it. I was on my way over there anyway. I'll take the package over to the conference room and get Captain Wesker to sign for it. Then I'll come back and you guys can both get on with your work."

"Oh, would you?" said Bernice, her shoulders sagging with relief. "Thank you so much, Amber. That would be really great."

"Thanks, miss," said the postal worker, handing the package and the clipboard over to Amber. "Mind the package, please, it's fragile."

"Okay," said Amber, as she headed for the door. "I'll be right back."

The office on the other side of the door was usually quiet at this time of day, but now it was bustling with activity, as if the entire police station was gearing up to the STARS Alpha Team's rescue mission. Several of the police officers greeted Amber as she walked through; others merely nodded and returned to their work, hunching over their desks and concentrating on the mounds of paperwork that seemed to be everywhere.

As she headed for the door at the far end of the room, she noticed one of the officers - a broad-shouldered black man with the beginnings of a beard growing on his chin - writing on the chalkboard near the door. She recognised him instantly; it was Marvin Branagh, an old friend of hers.

"Hey, Amber," he said pleasantly. "You're working in the east office again today, by the way. Just thought I'd let you know."

"I'm actually meant to be delivering this package to Captain Wesker, but thanks anyway," replied Amber. "What's the announcement for today?"

"Oh, they've told us the date for this year's civic celebration so we can start working out the crowd control arrangements," said Marvin, finishing the task, and he put the chalk down. "It's a little later than usual - September 29th this year. I preferred it back when it was called the Raccoon Festival instead of the Michael Festival, but never mind. At least people still get a day off, huh?"

"True," said Amber. "Anyway, got to run. Captain Wesker needs his parcel. Catch you later, Marv."

"Yeah, catch you later," agreed Marvin.

Amber opened the plain metal door and went into the evidence room. It was a small, dingy room with bare stone walls and a bare floor, and a whole bank of metal drawers containing various pieces of evidence, the more valuable or hazardous of which had been locked away in drawers which required combinations. Not intending to stay there any longer than she had to - for some reason, this room made her feel nervous and uncomfortable - Amber hurried through the other door and into the hallway beyond.

On arrival in the hallway, she was greeted with the familiar smell of old central heating turned up slightly too high, and instantly felt better. This part of the building wasn't terribly attractive - it had been painted in what she thought of as institutional colours, cream and dark green, intended to make people feel more comfortable but instead having the opposite effect of giving the place an uncomfortably clinical feel - but at least it was better than the creepy evidence room.

At the end of the hall she could see the creaky wooden stairs leading up to the next floor, which were straining under the weight of a policeman laden with a thick stack of files and photographs. He paused on his way down to scratch his nose, then carried on down the stairs and immediately turned left towards the RPD's darkroom.

"Hi, David," she called, but her greeting went unanswered. Amber shrugged, and went through the door on her left. This brought her into another corridor painted in the same institutional cream and dark green colours, with the same smell of old central heating.

Sun was streaming in through the dusty windows but someone had turned the lights on anyway - how pointless, she thought, and flicked the light switch on her way past. The soft buzzing of the fluorescent lights immediately stopped, and now she could hear a murmur of conversation. She was approaching the conference room at long last.

Amber turned the corner and met with something unexpected and solid; the shock of running into it made her jump. The package flew from her hands before she could react.

"Whoa!"

The other person involved in the collision dived to retrieve the package, catching it just in time. He straightened up, apologising profusely, and handed it back to her.

"I'm really sorry - oh, Amber, it's you," he said, suddenly recognising her.

Amber recognised him too. Wide brown eyes, light brown hair neatly combed back, and a near-permanent sheepish, slightly apologetic expression… it couldn't be anybody else, especially not in that horrible yellow jacket he was always wearing. It was Brad "Chickenheart" Vickers, the STARS Alpha Team pilot and resident scaredy-cat.

"Hey, Brad," she said, trying not to smile. "Hope I didn't scare you."

"No - no, it's okay," he said hastily. "Oh, man, what a day! I'm late again, my car wouldn't start and now Captain Wesker's going to have my ass for _breakfast _for being late, and if that wasn't bad enough, I'm running into people like a dumbass - sorry, Amber."

"It's all right, Brad, really," Amber insisted. "Don't you worry about it."

Brad nodded and edged away towards the double doors of the conference room. He listened carefully to the voice on the other side for a few moments. When he heard a pause, he straightened up and, taking a deep breath, opened the door and walked in.

The conference room reminded Amber more than a little of the fourth-grade classroom at Raccoon City Elementary - there was the chalkboard at the end of the room, the little desks in neat rows, the big desk at the front, the American flag in the corner. The only real differences were the podium at the front, the coffee machine near the back, and the posters on the walls, which depicted wanted criminals instead of multiplication tables.

As Brad walked in, the other STARS members, sitting at their desks like overgrown schoolchildren, looked up curiously at this late arrival. There was Chris Redfield, young and confident, his dark hair gelled into spikes at the front; Barry Burton, a gruff but kindly man in his forties, stocky, bearded and well-built, with brown hair that was receding slightly; Jill Valentine, her best friend, a slender young woman with bright blue eyes, delicate, pretty features and a small heart-shaped face framed by short brown hair; and of course there was her beloved Joseph, sandy-haired and handsome.

Right at the front of the room, standing at the podium, was the STARS captain, Albert Wesker. A tall, muscular man with blond hair and eyes that were permanently hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses, he was surveying his audience with his usual dispassion. When he looked up and saw Brad, however, his casual indifference crystallised into icy, withering disdain.

"Ah, Vickers," he said, almost lazily; his tone of voice put Amber in mind of a sunbathing crocodile. "How nice of you to join us. Your punctuality is an example to us all."

Brad was sweating nervously.

"Uh… thank you, sir?" he hazarded.

The crocodile went in for the kill.

"Explain to me, if you will, why you insist on turning up fifteen minutes after everyone else," Wesker said sharply.

"I - I - " stammered Brad, who looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

"He's fashionably late, sir!" quipped Joseph, breaking the tension.

A quiet ripple of laughter went through the other STARS members.

"Then he's clearly the height of fashion," Wesker responded smoothly, without missing a beat. "Let's just hope he's not trying to start a trend."

Brad breathed out, visibly relieved. He glanced over at Joseph and smiled weakly in a silent show of gratitude.

"Sit _down_, Vickers," said Wesker impatiently, gesturing to a seat.

With a squeak of terror, Brad rushed over to the little desk and sat down, almost falling off his seat in his hurry to do what he was told.

Wesker rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," he said sharply. "As I was saying, the attacks appear to have been carried out by - "

He looked up again, and this time he noticed Amber standing by the open door. She shrank back nervously in the doorway as he turned towards her.

"What do _you _want?" he snapped, clearly irritated by this new interruption.

"Package for you, Captain Wesker," Amber babbled, hurrying forwards into the room and thrusting the package right under his nose. He snatched it abruptly from her hands and placed it on the desk beside the podium.

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "You can go now."

"And if you could - s-sign this, please," said Amber, proffering the clipboard with shaking hands.

Wesker wrenched the clipboard from her unresisting fingers and glared at the papers it was holding with undisguised hatred. He picked up a pen from the desk, scribbled a signature, and handed back the clipboard.

"Now go away," he told her simply.

Amber couldn't follow this instruction fast enough. Her shoes skidded on the floor as she scrambled to leave the room, and she fell forwards; shrieking, she managed to grab a desk just in time, and she hauled herself back to her feet. Flushing furiously, she hurried towards the door, trying not to see the sympathetic looks of the STARS members, or the very faintest hint of a smirk on Wesker's face.

The door slammed behind her. Amber leaned against the wall and buried her reddening face in her hands, silently cursing herself for being so afraid of Captain Wesker that she'd made a complete fool out of herself in front of the entire STARS Alpha Team. She wondered if this was how Brad felt all the time, and suddenly pitied him. No wonder he was so skittish…

She shook herself. She was keeping the postal worker waiting; she had to get that clipboard back to him as soon as possible, so that she could get on with her own work.

Deep in thought, she wandered back to the reception desk and handed the clipboard back to the postal worker.

"You took your time," he said irritably.

"Sorry," said Amber right away, although she hadn't really noticed the comment; her mouth was operating entirely on automatic, while her thoughts worked quietly away inside her head.

"Thanks, Amber," said Bernice, as the postal worker walked away. "It was sweet of you to do that. I know you're probably busy."

"Don't mention it," said Amber vaguely. "Catch you later…"

xxxxxxxxxx

Some time later, Amber arrived at the east office. She paused briefly at the coffee machine outside in the hallway, then opened the blue double doors and stepped into the room.

The office was very _film noir _- lots of wooden panelling, a few bookcases, some old-fashioned filing cabinets and rows of wooden desks groaning with paperwork. There was a smaller, separate office built into this one, separated from the rest of the room by partitions of wood and frosted glass, and a door that could have been taken straight from the office of a 1930s private detective. There was someone working in there right now, visible only as a silhouette on the other side of the glass.

A few weak rays of sunlight were filtering into the shadowy room through gaps in the Venetian blinds, making the dust motes in the air glitter like gold dust. The only sound was the rustle of paper, the occasional cough and the slow _whump, whump_ of the ceiling fans disturbing the air.

Picturesque though it was, Amber didn't like this room much. She preferred the west office, which had bare walls and harsh artificial lighting, but also a more relaxed and jovial atmosphere - the officers who worked there were a friendly, happy bunch, always telling jokes and playing pranks on each other. Here, the officers were solemn, serious and unsmiling; most of them didn't even bother to look up as she walked into the room, although one or two gave her the tiniest of nods to acknowledge her presence.

"Hi, Amber," said one of the other officers at last. "Slight change of plan today; Jodie just came back from sick leave, so the rota's been changed again. You're on patrol in downtown this morning instead."

"Oh," said Amber, taken aback. "I thought I was meant to be here all day today."

"No, only for this afternoon. Jodie'll take care of things for you here while you're on patrol. If you could just finish up the paperwork from yesterday before you leave, that would be great, because then I can get it all filed away before the Chief comes down here asking if I've done it yet."

"No problem, Alan," said Amber, taking a sip of coffee and grimacing slightly. It was still a little too hot. "I'll take care of that right away."

"Thanks."

"You'd better tell Marvin if the rota's been changed. I don't think he knows."

"Hell! I forgot about Marvin!" exclaimed Alan, smacking himself in the forehead. "I'd better find him and let him know, or the poor guy'll be sending people all over the place and nobody'll be where they're meant to be today. Thanks for reminding me, Amber."

He rushed breathlessly towards the doors and hurried out of the office. The hush of the room was briefly disturbed by the doors slamming behind him, but within seconds everything was exactly as it had been before he left.

Amber took a seat at the same desk that she'd occupied the previous day, and cast her eye over the paperwork that she'd left unfinished. It was fairly straightforward stuff, and wouldn't take long to fill in, she decided.

Within half an hour she was on her way out of the police station. The weather was still fine, and getting warmer; it was going to be a beautiful day today. Bathed in warm sunshine, her spirits high despite the vague worry about Bravo Team's disappearance at the back of her mind, Amber headed towards downtown Raccoon City.

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber's patrol had been pleasant and uneventful. She'd been greeted warmly by all the usual people from downtown, nothing unusual had happened, and she had even been given a free can of soda by the owner of Wrigley's Grocery Store. She'd also run into a few of the PriMadonnas and given the kids a gentle but firm lecture about "tagging" other people's property. The message had definitely been received and understood; the teenagers had looked suitably chastened afterwards, with meek apologies from those who hadn't been staring down, red-faced, at their sneakers.

On her return to the precinct, she was greeted by another huge stack of paperwork on the desk in the east office. Silently cursing Alan and his tendency to pass large portions of his workload onto his colleagues whenever he got bored of doing paperwork, she attacked the piles of paper with a ferocity that surprised the other officers; Amber was known throughout the precinct as a happy and sweet-natured soul, and it was rare to see her in a bad mood.

She was so deeply absorbed in the long and arduous task of clearing the paperwork off her desk that the tap on the shoulder startled her. She looked up sharply and saw the friendly face of Officer Timothy Lonsdale, one of her best friends from the precinct, who was working nights this week. It was then that she realised that light was fading from the sky and ebbing away from the room.

"Amber, everyone's gone home," he said gently. "You should too - your shift ended hours ago."

"Oh," said Amber, suddenly dazed. She rubbed her eyes. "Okay, Tim, I'll go take a break."

"The rest of the STARS are getting ready to leave, you know," Tim told her. "You want to go and see them off?"

"They're leaving already?" said Amber, stunned.

"What do you mean, _already_?" laughed Tim. "It's eight-thirty. That's the time they're meant to be leaving. I think it's you that's behind schedule, Amber. Go on, go see them off and then clock off for the night."

xxxxxxxxxx

There were quite a few people on the roof of the RPD building, crowding around the helicopter to watch the STARS Alpha Team leave. As well as Chris, Jill, Barry, Brad, Joseph and Captain Wesker, who were all making final preparations for their rescue mission, the Chief of Police, Brian Irons, was there, watching with a faint smile on his face.

Amongst the other bystanders were two work-experience kids from the local high school and, notably, Officer Kevin Ryman, who was watching enviously as the STARS team prepared for their imminent departure. Amber knew that Kevin's application to join STARS had been turned down, and that he had been bitterly disappointed by his failure to join the RPD's finest.

Doing her best to avoid attracting Captain Wesker's attention after what had happened earlier, Amber went over to the STARS members to wish them luck. To her relief, Wesker didn't even notice that she was there.

"Hey, Amber," Chris greeted her. "How's it going? You look tired…"

"Thanks for the compliment," said Amber, grinning half-heartedly. "Just came up to wish you guys good luck on the mission. Hope you find Bravo Team okay."

"You and us both," said Barry abruptly, and Amber wondered what was wrong. He seemed distracted and slightly unsettled, as though something was bothering him. She put it down to worry about the missing Bravo Team.

"Don't worry, Barry, we'll find them," said Chris brightly. "We've never failed a mission yet."

Barry said nothing; he drifted away to help Brad and Joseph load equipment into the helicopter.

"Don't know what's eating him," said Chris, shrugging. "He's been like this for days now. Guess he's got problems at home or something. I know I can't concentrate on anything if I've fallen out with my kid sister."

"How is Claire, anyway?" asked Amber. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"Oh, she's fine," said Chris. "Been busy at college, the usual stuff. She just got herself a new bike, too. Well, I say _new_, it's a second-hand one, but she's pleased with it. She says she's working her way up to a Harley-Davidson, though I think she'll have to wait a while for that one."

Amber smiled.

"Yeah. You take care, Chris."

"Will do."

Chris hurried away to give Brad and Barry a hand with a heavy piece of equipment; Wesker had left them to their own devices for now and was striding over towards Chief Irons, presumably to discuss the mission with him.

Jill was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke curl up into the evening air. She blinked, then smiled as she noticed Amber.

"Hey, Amber," she said. "Come to wish us luck?"

"Of course," said Amber. "You're my best friend, after all. And I couldn't let Joseph fly away without a good-luck kiss, could I?"

Jill grinned.

"Course not," she said, taking another long drag on the cigarette.

"I thought you said you were going to quit," said Amber accusingly.

Jill suddenly looked guilty.

"Well… yeah," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "I stopped last week and I was doing pretty good until I heard about Bravo Team today. After the mission briefing I got so nervous, I had to borrow a couple of cigarettes from Chris. Truth is, I'm scared. You heard the stories about what's happening out near Raccoon Forest? Attacks by dogs and stuff, and then that woman hiker they found in the river, the one who looked like she'd been eaten?"

Amber nodded.

"I'm worried about Bravo Team - Enrico, Forest, Richard and the others," said Jill. "And especially Rebecca. I know all the rumours about cannibalistic cults are probably just bullshit, but jeez, Rebecca's only a kid, she shouldn't be lost in the woods if there are dangerous animals around."

She stubbed out the cigarette on the wall and flicked the butt away.

"I hope we find them. I really do. If they all come home safe and sound, then I'm giving up smoking for real. No more cigarettes ever again. That's a promise."

"I'll hold you to that," teased Amber.

Jill shrugged.

"Go right ahead," she said. "I'd do anything to have them all come home safe, and if that means giving up smoking in return, then I'll do it. They're my friends and I just want them to be all right."

There was a long silence. Then, without a word, Amber stepped forward and hugged Jill.

"You take care of yourself out there, Jill," she told her. "Don't get kidnapped by cannibals, because you know I'll have to come after you if you do. You're my best friend and I don't want you to get eaten."

Jill returned the hug.

"Don't worry, Amber," she said. "I'm not going to end up as a Jill sandwich any time soon. I'll come home safely and we can have lunch somewhere to celebrate."

"I'll hold you to that too," said Amber.

"Jill, we're almost ready to go!" called Brad from the cockpit of the helicopter.

"All right, Brad, I'm coming," called Jill, and she hurried over to the helipad. Amber watched her go with increasing trepidation. Her best friend and the man she loved were heading into the dark heart of the woods, where absolutely anything could be lurking. She didn't have a good feeling about this mission.

Joseph was sitting on the helipad beside the helicopter, staring into space. Only when Amber knelt down and tapped him on the shoulder did he look up.

"Hey, Ambie. Thanks for coming to see us off," he said with a smile.

"Oh, I couldn't let you go off and save the day without saying goodbye now, could I?" said Amber, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"Mmm," said Joseph, kissing her on the cheek. "You're so sweet."

"It's what I do best," said Amber, turning up the corners of her mouth to disguise her growing anxiety. "Good luck, sweetheart. Hope everything goes okay."

"Sure it will," said Joseph. "It always does."

He hugged Amber, or at least her head and shoulders, then reached into a pocket and pulled out his lucky red bandanna.

"Here, let me," said Amber, taking it from his hand.

"Thanks."

Amber started to tie the bandanna neatly around Joseph's head. As she did so, however, she found herself overwhelmed by a deep feeling of dread. The missing STARS members were in grave danger, she knew it instinctively; she knew, too, that some of them would probably never make it back alive. She started to cry.

"What's the matter, baby?" said Joseph, concerned.

"I'm scared," sobbed Amber. "Something terrible's happened to them out there, I just know it!"

"Then we'll just have to do what we can," Joseph told her. "We can't do much more than that. And you know we'll do our best to bring them safely home again. Now don't cry any more, okay?"

"Okay," said Amber, sniffling. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then carried on tying Joseph's bandanna.

"Officer Bernstein - Officer Frost," said someone, kneeling down beside them.

Amber and Joseph both looked to see who the newcomer was; it turned out to be Kenneth Feng, one of the work experience kids from Raccoon City High. Amber quite liked Kenny, who was friendly, helpful and very hard-working, but at the moment she didn't feel terribly inclined to talk to him. She knew that she looked a mess, with bloodshot eyes and her mascara running, and she didn't particularly want any of her co-workers to see her like this. Still, she liked Kenny and didn't want to hurt his feelings by ignoring him, so she made an effort to welcome him.

"You shouldn't be here," she added. "This isn't some regular mission. This is a rescue mission."

"It's my job to help around wherever I can," Kenny said earnestly. "And after what happened here last night, I just wanted to make sure - "

Last night. Oh, yes. Last night, when Bravo Team had left the precinct on their mission, Kenny had reported seeing Captain Wesker paying a little too much attention to the helicopter. She and the others hadn't thought anything of it at the time. After all, the STARS captain was a serious man and very thorough, so it would be natural for him to want to check that the helicopter was in perfect working order before Bravo Team left. However, she couldn't help wondering what Wesker had really been doing, now that Bravo Team's helicopter had inexplicably crashed in the forest… perhaps they should have paid more attention to what Kenny had told them, and checked the helicopter themselves. If they had, Bravo Team would probably be safe at home tonight.

"We should've listened yesterday," she interrupted him. "And I'm sorry we didn't. But we won't be making that mistake again. And I don't want to put you in a situation like this. You should be at home, where it's safe."

Kenny nodded silently and walked away, a sheaf of mission briefing notes tucked firmly under his arm. He handed one to Joseph as he left, then went round to all the STARS members and made sure that they each had a copy of the notes. As Wesker began talking to the STARS members, Amber watched Kenny drift away from the group and head downstairs into the RPD building.

One by one, the STARS members climbed up into the helicopter. Wesker went first, as usual, followed by Chris and Barry. Jill paused to say goodbye to Amber, then joined her comrades in the helicopter.

Joseph was the last to go. He leaned out of the open helicopter to say a few words to Amber before he left.

"Bye, sweetie. I'll be back soon, okay?" he told her. "You go home and get some rest. I don't want you waiting up for me like you did last time. You've got work tomorrow."

Amber nodded, although she knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep properly tonight until she knew that all of the STARS members were safely home again.

Joseph was about to duck back into the helicopter when on a sudden impulse, Amber grabbed him by the face and kissed him.

"I love you, Joseph Frost," she told him.

"I love you too, Amber Bernstein," Joseph murmured in reply. "Don't forget that."

"I won't," Amber promised. "I won't ever forget that."

"Time to go," announced Barry, gently pulling Joseph back into the helicopter. "See you soon, Amber."

The circle of people standing around the helicopter expanded outwards, backing away to a safe distance as the helicopter rotors began to turn. Stepping backwards, Amber caught a final glimpse of the STARS members inside the helicopter before it lifted off the helipad and soared away into the darkening sky.

Amber watched it until it was too dark to spot the imperceptible black speck in the starry night, and then she went back inside the police station. She knew that going home was pointless, because she would only sit on the couch, listlessly watching late-night TV until Joseph came back, so she decided that she might as well return to the paperwork that she'd left downstairs in the east office.

Little did she suspect that her simple, pleasant life as a police officer was about to go horribly, catastrophically wrong…


	2. Drowning Sorrow

**2: Drowning Sorrow**

**Saturday 25th July, 1998**

Amber opened her eyes to a stack of unfinished paperwork. Groaning softly, she lifted her head from the desk and felt the side of her face peel away from the wood. Blinking in the unexpected grey daylight - it had been dark when she'd closed her eyes for a moment's rest - she shook her head and tried to focus on the page in front of her.

She gradually became aware of a strange buzz in the background, composed of people murmuring excitedly amongst themselves.

"… must've gone crazy…"

"… giant spiders?"

"… never would have believed it…"

Amber rubbed her eyes and shook her head again. She must have misheard the last few remarks, she told herself. Giant spiders? What nonsense…

"I need coffee," she muttered to her neighbour. "Cover for me a moment, will you?"

Pushing back her chair, she stood up and stumbled towards the door. She still felt half-asleep; she wished now that she'd followed Joseph's advice and gone home to rest, instead of stupidly trying to stay up all night, waiting for him to come back.

The corridor was a welcome relief from the stuffy office, although the fluorescent lights were making Amber's eyes ache. With a soft moan of agony, she blundered in the direction of the coffee machine and roughly pushed aside another cop, who was fishing in his pocket for a quarter.

"Hey," he said reproachfully. "Wait your turn."

Though unrepentant, Amber mumbled an apology anyway and shoved a fistful of coins into the machine. Jamming a cup under the spout and slamming her hand down on the button, she waited for the coffee machine to start.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, glaring at the coffee machine with tired and bloodshot eyes that could barely stay open. The machine seemed to be holding back its supply of hot, sweet black coffee just to spite her.

A pair of cops drifted past.

"… never thought the STARS would crack up like this," said one of them. "Vickers was raving like a lunatic over the radio frequency. Some gibberish about zombies in a mansion, and Wesker being a traitor or something. I don't know what happened out there, and in all honesty, I'm not sure I want to. Not if it made a whole bunch of pros suddenly go nuts."

Amber looked up sharply, her ears pricking up at the mention of STARS. Suddenly wide awake and fully alert, she watched the cops intently, listening to their conversation and ignoring the coffee machine's loud gurgles. After catching the edge of the conversation, coffee didn't seem important any more.

"Did they bring anyone back?"

"I don't know, he was kinda hard to make out - all I got was static and a whole bunch of crazy talk. Maybe you should go ask them yourself. I just heard their helicopter land on the roof."

"No way, man. I'm not going to talk to them if they're acting crazy. I avoid Captain Wesker even at the best of times. That guy scares the crap out of me. God knows what he'd be like if he ever lost his mind…"

The cops faded from earshot as they walked away. Abandoning her coffee, Amber rushed down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Hey, what about your coffee?" called the cop behind her.

"It's okay, you have it!" Amber said hurriedly, flinging the door open.

"Okay," shrugged the cop, taking the cup. "Thanks."

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber was out of breath by the time she reached the helipad on the roof, but that was the least of her worries.

_Are they all right? Please let them be all right__…_

The helicopter had obviously just touched down on the tarmac - the rotors were still slowing, and the whirring of the helicopter was dying down to a slow whine. Brad was the first out of the helicopter, stepping down from the cockpit as if in a daze. White-faced and wild-eyed, he stared blankly into space, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Not my fault," he was saying to himself, over and over again. "Not my fault… I had to… would've been overrun… all dead… I did what I had to… not my fault… not my fault…"

"Brad? Are you okay?" called Amber, hurrying over to him. "What happened?"

Brad saw her and instantly broke down.

"It wasn't my fault, I swear!" he wailed, grabbing Amber by the shoulders. "Those things would have killed us all if I hadn't flown away! I know I left them, but - but I had to! I had to find a safe landing site for the helicopter, or we'd have been overrun and then none of us would have made it back alive! I never meant to leave them like that! I came back as soon as I could! It wasn't my _fault_!"

"Brad, what things?" said Amber urgently. "What happened out there? You have to tell me what happened, Brad! Tell me what happened!"

"We landed in the forest," said Brad, making an attempt to pull himself together in spite of his hysteria. "And then suddenly there were things - terrible things! Wolves or something, I don't know what they were, but they were everywhere! They killed somebody, I couldn't tell who in the dark, and they chased the others away! I didn't want to leave them, but the wolves were attacking the helicopter, and none of us would have made it home if they'd destroyed it - I had to fly away and circle overhead till I could find another spot to land. As soon as I saw the signal, I tried to land, but then there was a giant monster, and they fired the rocket launcher at it, then the mansion exploded and - it was _awful_!"

Brad rushed away before Amber could respond, and hurtled down the stairs into the RPD building.

Deeply alarmed by this turn of events, Amber hurried to the helicopter and saw Chris Redfield emerge, with a much younger girl in tow. Small, slight and impossibly young, with short mousy hair and pretty, elfin features, the girl looked as fragile as a porcelain doll, even though she was dressed in a STARS medic's uniform. Amber recognised her instantly - it was Bravo Team's new medic, eighteen-year old Rebecca Chambers.

The last time Amber had met her, Rebecca had been positively radiating eagerness and willingness to please, but now her large grey-blue eyes were brimming with tears and she was trembling all over. Whatever had happened on her mission, it had clearly left her traumatised.

"Rebecca? Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad you made it back!" exclaimed Amber, throwing her arms around the younger girl. "Are you all right, honey?"

Rebecca promptly burst into tears.

"It - it was - " she said, gulping back sobs. "Oh, Amber, it was _horrible_! There were zombies and leeches and giant scorpions and snakes and everything! And - and they're dead! They're all dead! Bravo Team are - "

Sobbing too hard to speak any more, Rebecca buried her face in Amber's shoulder. Amber murmured something soothing and stroked the girl's back gently, hoping that this would calm her down a little.

"What happened, Chris?" she tried again, grabbing the man's arm as he walked past.

"You don't want to know," said Chris grimly, lighting up a cigarette. "Trust me, you _really _don't want to know what happened out there. Nobody in their right mind would."

"But - " protested Amber.

"Look, you'd better talk to Jill. She can explain it better than I can," Chris said shortly, putting a protective arm around Rebecca and leading her away. "Come on, Rebecca, we'd better get you inside."

Rebecca nodded tearfully and allowed herself to be escorted into the RPD building. Amber watched them go, suddenly feeling frightened and very bewildered by what she was seeing. What had _happened _out there? What had been so dreadful that it had traumatised little Rebecca and reduced Brad, who was jumpy even at the best of times, to a complete nervous wreck?

Climbing out of the helicopter was Barry Burton, but the stunned look on his face told Amber right away that talking to him would be a complete waste of time - he looked far too shaken by whatever he'd seen to speak, or at least speak coherently. She waited until he'd gone inside before peering into the helicopter.

It had started out as a fairly bright day, but the sky seemed to be getting darker as the clouds rolled in overhead. In the deepening gloom of the helicopter's interior, Amber could see only a hunched shape sitting towards the back, weeping bitterly.

"Jill?" she ventured. "Is that you?"

"Amber?" said Jill, looking up and wiping her bloodshot eyes. "Oh, God…"

"Jill, what happened? Why is everyone acting so depressed?" said Amber. "And where is everybody? Where's the rest of Bravo Team?"

"They're dead," said Jill, choking back a sob. "Bravo Team are dead. Rebecca was the only one who survived."

Amber gasped.

"They're dead? But how? What happened to them out there?"

"Kevin was killed after their helicopter went down," said Jill, swallowing. "Forest was dead when we found him; it looked like he'd been attacked by birds. Kenneth was eaten, and Richard was poisoned by a snake, though Chris said something about a shark, which I don't understand… I don't really know what happened to Edward, because we never found him, but Rebecca told us that he'd been killed by wild dogs. And Enrico - Enrico was murdered."

Amber was too stunned to hear the rest of what Jill had to say about Bravo Team. Six men and a girl had flown out to Raccoon Forest, and all six men were dead. Helicopter crashes and snake poisoning seemed like reasonable enough explanations, and wild dogs might just have been a possibility - but attacked by birds? _Eaten_?

"What about Captain Wesker?" she said, suddenly feeling light-headed. "Where is he?"

Jill scowled, an unnatural expression of darkness clouding her face.

"Wesker's dead, and good riddance," she spat. "That traitor tried to kill us all. Kenny was right about him having tampered with Bravo Team's chopper - we should have listened to him all along. Wesker was the one who shot Enrico, and he was behind all this. All that time we trusted him, and it turns out he was working for _them_."

"For whom?"

"Umbrella. Don't believe their lies, Amber. They're making a lot more than medicines. We found a secret laboratory of theirs in the mountains, in a mansion, and, well, it all adds up. The attacks, the wild dogs, the cannibal murders - they're behind it all. The so-called cannibal murderers were human beings once, and the dogs were just normal dogs. But now, thanks to Umbrella, they're monsters. Umbrella have been working on some sort of virus called the T-Virus, and when it leaked out, it changed things. Turned dogs into rabid monstrosities and people into…"

Jill hesitated.

"Amber, I know nobody's going to believe us," she said abruptly. "I know they'll think we've all gone crazy, and Brad's mindless babbling over the radio didn't help much. But you're my best friend. You _have _to believe me. Promise me that you won't call me a liar or a fool when I tell you this, because it's true. I swear to God, it's all true, every word."

"I promise," said Amber quietly.

"Amber, those people were turned into zombies," said Jill, her voice dropping to a low, terrified murmur. "I know how it must sound, but it's true. There's no other way to describe them. They were infected with the T-Virus and it turned them into zombies. They ate people alive and turned them into zombies too. Worst of all, it didn't just change humans and dogs. The T-Virus infected other animals, like frogs and birds and snakes, and it turned them into terrible monsters. Stuff you've probably only seen in your worst nightmares. As for what Rebecca went through, I can only guess. She's seen even more than we have. I don't think that poor kid's ever going to sleep at night again."

She paused.

"You do believe me, don't you?" she said desperately.

Amber's mind was reeling. It all sounded impossible - Wesker being a traitor, Bravo Team being wiped out, the friendly local pharmaceuticals giant creating monsters and viruses in the mountains - but the look on her friend's face told her that she was deadly serious. Jill was the most intelligent and sensible person that she knew, and she wasn't in the habit of exaggerating or making things up. As for her mental health, there was no question of her being insane, not even now.

Amber looked into Jill's eyes and saw hope, pleading, desperation, and above all, fear. These were the eyes of someone driven almost to the brink of madness by sheer mindless terror. Only once before had she seen anything like this, and it had been in the eyes of a downtown kid who had narrowly escaped death in one of the bloodiest gang wars in Raccoon City's history. It was the haunted look of someone who had seen hell on earth and fervently wished that they hadn't lived to regret it.

"I believe you," she said solemnly.

"You don't think I'm crazy? Or a liar?" said Jill, wiping her eyes again.

"No. I know you, Jill. You're not crazy and you're no liar. If you tell me there are zombies out there in the forest, then there are. And that's a fact."

Jill nodded.

"Thank you," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "Thank you for believing us."

Amber rested her tired, aching head against the side of the helicopter and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was just too surreal. Was she really hearing all this, or hadn't she woken up yet? Perhaps this was all just a bad dream and she'd wake up any moment now, next to Joseph as always…

… _Joseph!_

"Where is he?" she said suddenly, looking around the helicopter.

"Who?" said Jill, puzzled.

"Joseph, where is he? Is he all right?" said Amber wildly. "Where - "

She stopped in the face of Jill's mournful stare. The look on her friend's face told her all that she needed to know about where her boyfriend was.

"No," said Amber suddenly. "Oh, no, it can't be… please tell me he's all right! Please tell me that I just missed him getting out of the helicopter or something! Tell me he's all right, Jill! Tell me he's all right! _Please_!"

"Oh, Amber," said Jill, starting to cry again. "He's dead - Joseph's dead!"

Amber's blood ran cold. She felt dizzy and sick as a terrible, numb emptiness opened up inside her, stopping her heartbeat in its tracks.

"No," she gasped, stumbling back from the helicopter. Tears were already prickling at the corner of her eyes. "No - no, not Joseph! Not him… oh, God, why him? Why?"

Her legs gave way beneath her and she sank to the ground in despair, falling onto her hands and knees. Sobs welled up inside her, and then the tears came, thick and fast, dropping like rain onto the tarmac. Overwhelmed by grief, she hardly even noticed the few small drops of water landing on her back.

Rain came pouring down in torrents, seeping through Amber's clothes and flattening her soaking wet hair against her head. Huge puddles of water quickly formed on the flat surface of the helipad, turning it into a little lake. The sky lit up briefly, and thunder rolled ominously overhead.

Raindrops and teardrops streamed down Amber's face, now indistinguishable from each other.

"No," she wept, her shoulders heaving with the effort of sobbing. "No…!"

She took a deep breath, then let out all her heartbreak in one long, anguished howl, screaming her boyfriend's name at the pitiless sky.

xxxxxxxxxx

By now the rumours were everywhere, permeating every inch of airspace in the police station as the word spread from mouth to mouth.

_The STARS say they__'__ve seen zombies in the forest__…_

Amber had returned to the east office to carry on with her work, simply because she didn't know what else to do. She couldn't go home; not to see an empty, unmade bed and Joseph's breakfast things still on the kitchen table. She wasn't sure if she could ever bring herself to go home again, knowing that she'd left her apartment with Joseph but would be returning alone.

_I don__'__t want to live any more_, she thought miserably. _Not without him. Perhaps I should just stay here at this desk and write reports until I drop dead from exhaustion. What do the Japanese call it? Karoshi - working yourself to death. Yeah. I should do that. Just carry on writing and signing, signing and writing until I see a bright light and hear dead relatives calling for me. And then I can be with Joseph again._

With a heavy heart, tears and rainwater still spilling down her cheeks, Amber picked up her pen and pulled an incident report form towards her. Concentrating with all her might to try and clear her mind of thoughts, she began laboriously copying out the notes accompanying the report in triplicate. It served as a welcome distraction from her misery.

"Amber?"

A warm hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up from her work, and turned her head to see Officer Lonsdale looking at her with an expression of gentle concern on his face.

"Amber, I heard about Joseph," he said quietly. "I'm really sorry. I know how much he meant to you."

Amber bowed her head to hide the tears, and nodded in reply.

"You should ask the Chief for some time off," he suggested. "I'm sure he could give you some compassionate leave. Work isn't the best place for you right now."

"No," said Amber, wiping her streaming eyes. "I can't go home, Tim. I can't. I - I just don't want to be alone right now. I want to stay here, where my friends are. And I'm needed here. I have to stay."

Tim nodded.

"I understand," he said gravely. "But if you change your mind, I can go ask the Chief for some leave for you. And if you need to talk, well, you know where I am, right?"

"Thank you, Tim," said Amber, gulping back another round of sobs. "I - I'm going to get back to work now. You should too."

"My shift ended ten minutes ago," said Tim, with a glance at his watch. "I'm going to clock off, grab a beer over at J's and then head home."

"Good plan," said Amber, making a weak attempt at a grin.

"Yeah. Take care of yourself, Amber."

Amber was relieved to see him leave the room, but at the same time she felt slightly ashamed of herself. She knew that Tim was only trying to be kind to her, but right now she didn't want sympathy, his or anybody else's. No condolences, no sympathetic looks, no well-meant advice and no hands on her shoulder; all she wanted was to be left entirely alone, so that she could get on with her work in relative peace.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. It was raining even harder now, if that was even possible. Raindrops lashed the window panes, and the noise was distracting Amber. So, too, was the sound of flying rumours; in spite of the speakers' hushed tones, the whispered conversations of her colleagues seemed to be growing louder around her.

_The STARS say they__'__ve seen zombies in the forest__…__ they must be crazy__…_

Amber gripped her pen tighter in her right hand, and tried again to read the original incident report.

_Incident No: 284/73625_

_Filed By: Officer Jodie Weyland_

_Date Filed: 07-17-98_

_At 0400 hours on the morning of Thursday July 16th, 1998, we received an urgent call from the morgue staff of Raccoon City General Hospital. Officer Alan Kingsley and I responded to the call._

_On arrival at the hospital morgue, we were informed by the chief mortician, Dr Giovanni Torres, that a fellow member of staff performing a routine check on the body storage units had discovered a total of seven bodies missing from the freezer units._

_The bodies were reported missing at approximately 3.35am - this was confirmed by other members of the morgue staff, none of whom were able to account for the disappearances. Each member of staff present was interviewed and Forensics have been called in to search the scene._

_Names and descriptions of the missing cadavers are as follows -_

Oh, God. Not dead people. That was the last thing she needed to read about!

Tossing aside the incident report, Amber buried her head in her hands and tried to think. However, the sound of the rain seemed to be driving itself into her brain, along with the whispers in the background:

_The STARS say they__'__ve seen zombies in the forest__…__ they must be crazy__…__ stay away from them__…_

Above her, the ceiling fans turned slowly overhead. They sounded almost like helicopter rotors, turning endlessly round and round, gently disturbing the air.

_Whump. Whump. Whump._

Amber thought right away of Bravo Team's helicopter, crashing into the woods after having been tampered with by the very man they thought they could all trust implicitly. She thought of Alpha Team's helicopter spiriting her friends and her lover away; she thought of that same helicopter returning with grey-faced, shaken, crying STARS members and no Joseph.

The sounds and her thoughts were starting to run together in her head.

_STARS__…__ zombies in the forest__…__ must be crazy__…__ stay away from them__…_

_Whump. Whump. Whump._

A helicopter full of her friends, falling into the night, tumbling through a thick canopy of trees and sealing the fates of eight people as it landed with a crash on the floor of a forest filled with God only knew what -

_STARS__…__ zombies__…__ must be crazy__…__ stay away from them__…_

Dying. Eight people, dying in different but equally terrible ways, and amongst them the one man that she would willingly have given up her own life to protect.

_Whump. Whump. Whump._

Joseph was dead and he was never coming home.

_Whump. Whump. Whump._

_STARS__…__ zombies__…__ crazy__…__ stay away__…_

Amber could take it no more. She stood up, trembling, and headed for the door. Ignoring the stares of her coworkers, she yanked open the door and practically hurled herself into the corridor outside, so desperate was she to get out. She didn't know where she was going; all she knew was that she couldn't stay here a moment longer.

She ran through open doors and crowds of cops, and then through the gloomy foyer and the mist of water droplets from the fountain. Finally reaching the double doors, she hauled them open and darted out into the courtyard, into the driving rain and out of sight.

xxxxxxxxxx

She didn't know why she'd come here. Perhaps she'd been drawn to its warmth and welcoming light after a long walk in the pouring rain, or perhaps she'd been called here by the quiet but fervent desire to drink herself into oblivion. Maybe even both; she didn't know, or couldn't remember. It was getting so hard to think now.

That was good. She didn't want to think any more. She wanted to keep knocking them back round by round, bottle by bottle, hoping all the while that she would never have to see tomorrow come around.

There were an awful lot of beer bottles littering the wooden table in front of her. She counted twelve, but wasn't sure about this result; she suspected that she was being tricked by her deceitful eyes, which liked to see things in twos after a few bottles of imported beer.

_Wishful thinking_, Amber thought bitterly, grasping the neck of her beer bottle and taking a swig of the contents, then wincing as the cold liquid touched her front teeth.

"Ow, ow, ow," she whimpered, slamming the bottle down on the tabletop and clapping both hands over her mouth. She swilled saliva round her mouth for a few moments to try and take away the sharp pain in her sensitive teeth, then allowed herself to relax again as the pain gradually died away.

Her head felt as though it was full of cotton wool. It got harder to think with every bottle, but she wasn't really complaining. Anything was better than having to remember that -

Amber stared out of the window at a happy couple strolling in the street outside, and felt the agony of sudden loneliness hit home again. Not so long ago, that had been her and Joseph out there, walking hand in hand, laughing and joking with each other. But they would never walk hand in hand again. He was gone, and now she felt more alone than she'd ever been in her entire life.

Memories came flooding back, all at once, and hit her in the face. With a wail, Amber let her head fall into her folded arms and felt the tears overcome her again.

When they eventually subsided, Amber raised her head and looked at her surroundings, now slightly blurred by tears and intoxication.

This was J's Bar, one of the most popular watering-holes in downtown Raccoon City. Though it wasn't exactly the fanciest place to get something good to drink, the beer was cold, the service was friendly and the place was always busy. They couldn't do cocktails worth a damn, though, she dimly recalled. She'd come here once on a friend's hen night and ordered a round of Black Russians, and the result had left her friends retching in the gutter outside; the bartender had added too much coffee liqueur.

Still, J's Bar wasn't exactly for the cocktail set. This was a bar of the old school, all wooden furniture, smoky air and ice-cold beer, with a television showing the sports news in the corner - the rich, the über-cool, the fashionistas, and the smartly-dressed people in search of a Cosmopolitan or the perfect Martini generally went elsewhere for refreshment.

She looked around at the other patrons in the kind of semi-curiosity feigned by people trying not to appear too drunk.

There were a few off-duty cops enjoying an after-work beer, but most of the people here right now were the really serious drinkers, who sat alone and drank whiskey by the jar while they waited quietly for the world to end, or for their overworked livers to finally give up the long fight against cirrhosis - whichever happened first.

And then there was Amber Bernstein, caught somewhere between the two: the cop shirking the duty that she'd solemnly sworn to do no matter what, trying to join these dour and silent drunks in the long struggle to bring about an early death from liver failure.

More beer, she decided, staring at the now-empty bottle in her hand. That would surely wash away the guilt and the shame of having deserted her post, just as it was helping to assuage her grief.

She raised her hand to signal to the bartender that she wanted another beer. Will was a friendly and sympathetic soul, despite his ineptitude when it came to anything more sophisticated than beer or hard liquor, and he knew his customers well; a mere nod of the head was enough to communicate your needs to him.

"Coming right up," she heard him call out to her.

Amber lowered her hand and moved the empty bottle gently to one side. At the same time, a shadow fell across the table.

"Well, well. Look who it is," said a woman's scornful voice.

Even with her thoughts heavily clouded by alcohol, Amber knew at once who it was. She'd thought that her heart could sink no lower, but it fell a little further at the sight of the attractive blonde waitress, who looked like a Barbie doll with a smug smile on her perfectly-rounded lips.

Cindy Lennox. Amber remembered her only too well from the days when they'd worked here together as fellow waitresses. Their working relationship had never been harmonious even at the best of times, but things had finally come to a head one day after Amber had caught Cindy slacking for the dozenth time on a busy shift and lost her temper in dramatic fashion. Despite the fact that Cindy had been an unproductive member of staff for several weeks and did virtually no work, Amber had been the one who got fired; the injustice of this still rankled. Since then she'd vowed never to set foot inside J's Bar again unless ordered to do so, and now - too late - she remembered why.

"So what brings you here, Amber?" said Cindy sweetly. "I thought you said you were never coming back."

"I wasn't," muttered Amber, staring sullenly down at the drift of empty bottles in front of her.

"You're here, though. You must be pretty desperate," the waitress remarked.

"I am," said Amber flatly. She didn't have enough enthusiasm for an argument to rise to the bait. "My boyfriend died last night."

Cindy's mouth opened and closed a few times. She clearly hadn't been expecting this, and wasn't sure how to respond.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said eventually, trying to sound polite and noncommittal without being too nice to her old enemy. "I - "

Her nose wrinkled, and she sniffed the air. She stared at Amber for a moment.

"You're drunk," she said at last, her eyes narrowing in distaste.

"'s the idea," said Amber, staring morosely at the nearest empty bottle.

"If you're drunk, then we're not allowed to serve you, Amber," said Cindy, trying to conceal her vicious delight with pleasant tones. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

"'m not goin' _anywhere_," said Amber, clutching the nearest bottle possessively and glaring at her.

"We can't serve you if you're drunk."

"'m already bein' served. 'm waitin' for my order," said Amber, her words slurring a little as she spoke. "Now please jus' gimme my beer an' leave me 'lone."

"Look at you. You're so drunk you can barely talk. You're pathetic," Cindy sneered, finally dropping the pretence of courtesy.

"An' you're a bitch," Amber shot back. "But inna mornin', 'least I'll be - "

"Waking up in the gutter outside your apartment block with a terrible hangover?" Cindy supplied.

If looks could have killed, the one that Amber was wearing would probably have been facing a human rights tribunal.

"Jus' gimme my goddamn beer, Cindy," she said shortly.

"No."

"That wasn't a _request_."

"No. I'm not going to. You're a pathetic drunk and you don't need any more beer," said Cindy spitefully. "You're already making a fool of yourself as it is. There's no excuse for acting like that, dead boyfriend or not."

"Don' you get holier-than-thou with me, Lennox," Amber snapped. "You're a slut an' a lousy waitress. It should've been you who got fired for misconduct. By the way, did you ever tell management _why_ I smacked you with a tray in the firs' place?"

Heads were turning to look, all over the bar. Cindy was going red.

"Get out, you lousy drunk," she hissed. "You'll make me lose my job!"

"Does it look to you like this face gives a damn about your job? This place's liquor licence is in serious jeopardy as it is," said Amber, pointing to a figure that she'd suddenly spotted at the bar. "That kid's only… what, fifteen years old?"

Cindy stiffened, and she turned to look at the figure talking to the bartender. It was a cop, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, his chin covered in a two-day growth of stubble. As he chatted to the bartender, who had just playfully tossed him a towel, her eyes flicked to the cop's companion - a short, skinny tenth-grader whose origins appeared to be Chinese, but whose perfect American accent implied that he'd never lived anywhere else but Raccoon City.

"He's drinking soda, look," said Cindy at last, pointing to the glass in the boy's hand.

"Doesn' matter," insisted Amber. "He shouldn' even be in here. You _know_ that."

"We haven't broken any laws," snapped Cindy, though Amber detected a hint of nervousness in her voice. "We're not serving alcohol to a minor, and besides, he's with one of yours. A cop. Kevin comes in here a lot, and I don't think he'll be in a hurry to shut us down any time soon."

"Kevin," said Amber, slowly and deliberately, "is also a very good friend of mine. One word from me an' he can get this place shut down faster'n you can _blink_. There are other bars in town, Cindy. 'm sure he can find another place to drink. I hear he likes the Blackjack in uptown… their beer's cheaper, too."

Cindy bristled with rage.

"Fine," she said, visibly seething. "You can have your damn beer."

She swiftly turned her back on Amber, and suddenly it was as if the venomous conversation had never happened; her scowl miraculously transformed into a brilliant smile, and she stepped lightly across the room, picking up trays and glasses to perform an elaborate balancing act. Some of the customers were admiring this feat, but Amber wasn't impressed. Every waitress knew how to do that; besides, hers had been much better.

Moments later, Cindy returned with a fresh bottle of beer and slammed it down on the table with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

"There," she spat. "Now drink it and get out. I don't want to see you in here again."

"Oh, you won't," said Amber maliciously. "Next time 'm goin' to Blackjack. They do a great three-for-two offer on Raccoon Mountain Beer, an' they throw in a shot of tequila free with every second round you order. I think I'll tell Kevin 'bout it, see if he wants to come with me next time…"

Cindy glowered at her and stormed off across the bar, slamming the kitchen door behind her. Amber smiled grimly and took a long swig of beer.

_Victory is mine_…

But it wasn't as much fun tormenting Cindy any more. The last time she'd done it, Cindy had been absolutely furious and her shrieks of rage had been audible more than two blocks away.

_Yeah__…__ the Corvette incident__…__ that was funny._

Cindy had a particularly nice car - a Corvette - which had been a sixteenth birthday present from her wealthy and doting parents. It was Cindy's pride and joy, and Amber always made sure to slap a parking ticket on it whenever she went by. On one occasion, however, she'd noticed it parked just out of reach of the "No Parking" zone, and such had been her disappointment that she'd called Joseph, Edward and Forest from a nearby payphone and persuaded them to go on patrol with her. When they arrived, she'd made a suggestion which had almost made Forest pass out from sheer hysterical laughter, and so the three men had deliberately run their patrol car into the back of Cindy's Corvette. The resulting crash had been just enough to shunt the car out of the parking space and into the "No Parking" zone. Cindy, hearing the commotion, had rushed out of J's Bar just in time to see Amber slap a parking ticket on her windshield…

_Ah, those were the days__…_

Those days were gone. Forest Speyer, Edward Dewey and their colleagues from Bravo Team were all dead now, save for poor little Rebecca. And when Alpha Team had been sent in to find them, the rescue mission had claimed Joseph's life too.

Wesker and Joseph, both dead - they'd lost two people just to save one young rookie. She ought to hate Rebecca for it, she knew, and yet she couldn't find any hatred in her heart for the girl. It hadn't been her fault, after all. It had been Alpha Team's duty to try and find out what had happened to their missing colleagues, even if they'd only brought one of them back alive. If they hadn't, they might never have known what had become of Bravo Team, and they would have spent the rest of their lives racked with guilt because they hadn't even tried to save their friends. And poor little Rebecca would be dead by now.

What would have been worse, Joseph's death, or seeing him tormented by guilt for the rest of his life, knowing that he and the others had left Bravo Team to die?

_He would have preferred to die rather than abandon a friend to a terrible fate in the woods. I know he would have been willing to give up his life to save one person. Joseph was a good man and a good cop, and he would have done it without hesitation. That__'__s what you do, in that line of work. At least his death wasn__'__t completely in vain._

It wasn't particularly comforting. She was glad that Rebecca had come home safely, yes, but that little bit of good news had been completely eclipsed by the dreadful grief of knowing that Joseph would never come home again.

_He__'__s dead__…_

Amber tried to down some more beer before her thoughts could drag her back down even further into the depths of despair, but it was too late; the tears returned with a vengeance, and now she found herself sobbing over her beer yet again.

"Kevin, look!" she heard someone else say, as she buried her head in her hands again. "Officer Bernstein!"

_Leave me alone,_ she thought, trying to ignore whoever was calling out to her. _Please, whoever you are, I just want to be left alone__…_

"Yo, Amber!"

That was Officer Ryman's voice; even if her heart hadn't already sunk as low as it could go, it would have done now. Though Kevin was an old friend who never failed to cheer her up if she was feeling down, she just didn't want to be comforted today. She didn't _want_ to feel happy again. The man she loved was dead - how could she ever want to feel happy now that he was gone?

"She looks like she could use a comforting shoulder," she heard Kevin saying to his young companion. "Come on, Kenny, let's go and see if she's okay."

"No, no, no," Amber murmured beneath her breath. "_Please_ go away…"

She cursed silently as she heard footsteps approaching her table. Two of the remaining three wooden stools at her table scraped back across the floor, and she heard thuds as her two unwanted companions sat down. She kept her head firmly down, hoping that they'd take the hint and leave her alone.

"Hey, Amber. You gonna be okay?"

Amber felt a hand on her shoulder and silently cursed again. Now there was no excuse for ignoring them. She reluctantly raised her head and saw the concerned faces of Kevin and - oh, of course. The boy she'd seen earlier had been Kenny; she hadn't recognised him, probably because she hadn't been expecting him here. He was meant to be back at the precinct, wasn't he? Then again, so was she…

"I… I couldn't stay at the precinct," she confessed, before either of them could say a word. "Chief Irons is gonna be pissed if he finds out. But I can't stay there."

"Officer Bernstein, I'm really sorry," said Kenny quietly. "Rita told me about what happened to the STARS."

_Did you have to remind me? Oh, God, why did you have to remind me again?_

Amber started to sob again; suddenly she didn't want to be alone any more. Her misery had now changed its mind and decided that it loved company after all, and so she buried her face in Kevin's chest, hoping that her old friend would comfort her with a hug.

Kevin scowled briefly at the younger boy for his unintentional tactlessness, but it seemed as if Kenny had already realised what he'd done; he looked slightly guilty and very dismayed by her reaction, and he looked as though he was about to cry too.

"He's dead," Amber sobbed, ignoring Kenny's stammered apology and the comforting words from Kevin. "Oh God, Joseph's dead…"

"I know. I'm sorry, Amber. He was a good guy and we'll all miss him," Kevin told her. "I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're going through, 'cause I never lost anyone close to me before. I know this must be hard for you. Really, really hard. But you should go home and rest."

"Don' wanna go home," said Amber tearfully. "Don' make me go home…"

"Well, you can't stay here all day, and you can't go back to the precinct like that," Kevin pointed out, gently prising the beer bottle from Amber's hand. "Come on, you've had enough to drink now. Let's get you home, huh?"

Amber knew she was beaten. Kevin was right; she couldn't stay here, or return to the precinct while under the influence. The best place for her was home. Preferably in bed, asleep, so she wouldn't have to think about anything.

She nodded unhappily, and tried to get up; staggering, she fell back into her seat again.

"Need some help, huh? Just as well we stopped by, right, Kenny?" said Kevin cheerfully. "Come on, up you get…"

Together, Kevin and Kenny helped Amber struggle to her feet. They supported her weight between them by draping her arms over their shoulders and putting an arm each around her waist.

"What about your beer, Kevin?" called Will, from the bar.

"Put it on my tab," Kevin called back. "And put the beer in the cooler, I'll be back later. I'm just going to take Kenny back to school and get Amber home, and finish off my shift at work, and I'll come back to drink the rest."

"It'll go flat," Will warned him.

"Doesn't matter," said Kevin. "Don't they drink it like that in England anyway?"

"They have different beer in England, Kevin," said Will. "Not like ours. Funny people, those Brits. Good beer, mind you. Very good beer."

"Is it?" said Kenny curiously, as they left. Amber was yawning in the warm air, suddenly drowsy from all the drink that she'd consumed inside.

"Apparently so," said Kevin, doing his best to shrug with Amber's arm across his shoulders. "I've never been, so I couldn't tell you myself, but a buddy of mine is dating an English chick and sometime last year she took him to visit her folks back home. Her dad runs one of those cute old English pubs, so there was a lot of free beer going around - my buddy told me he never got drunk so quick in his life. Best beer he ever tasted, he said."

"Really?"

"Yep."

They walked towards the police car, which had been parked untidily outside the restaurant next to Cindy's Corvette. Kevin pulled open one of the rear doors and helped Amber into the car.

"Thanks, Kevin," Amber said sleepily, pulling the seatbelt around her with clumsy fingers and attempting to fasten it several times before Kenny eventually took over and fastened it for her.

"Thank you too, Kenny," she murmured, resting her head against the side of the car. "You're a good kid."

"You're welcome, Officer Bernstein."

Amber yawned again. She was only vaguely aware of Kenny and Kevin getting into the car and slamming the doors shut. The car started up and zoomed away from the bar, careering down the street with the local radio station playing Country & Western at full volume and Kenny screaming at Kevin to slow down.

None of this bothered Amber. Nothing really bothered her now. All she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep, and let all her problems drift away. Closing her eyes, she lay back in the car and allowed herself to sink into a fitful sleep.

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber lay in her bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling of her bedroom. She desperately wanted to fetch some painkillers to take away the headache that was gripping her skull, but she couldn't face the prospect of having to crawl out of bed, unlock the bathroom cabinet and wrestle with the childproof cap on the bottle of aspirin.

_My head hurts__…_

Groaning, she tried to close her eyes again, but it was useless; she couldn't go back to sleep. She'd already slept for several hours and it would be a while before she'd be tired enough to sleep some more. Instead she reached out for the bottle of water on her nightstand and took small sips of the clear, lukewarm liquid. It wasn't very refreshing, but she remembered that water was meant to alleviate hangovers and at this stage, she was ready to try anything.

With some difficulty, Amber tried to turn over without moving her head too much. When she finally rolled onto her side, she stared sadly at the other side of the bed, still unmade, with the pillows and sheets still rumpled and smelling of Joseph. She shuffled across the bed until she was lying on Joseph's side of the bed, then pushed her face into the pillows and inhaled deeply, breathing in the lingering scent of her beloved.

It hadn't been a nightmare from which she'd just woken. He really was gone. Gone, and with him, her whole world. She'd never imagined that yesterday's goodbye would be their last; now she would never see him again. Joseph Frost, the love of her life - the one man that she'd so desperately wanted to spend the rest of her life with - was dead and gone forever.

"Joseph," she whispered, clutching the pillow tightly and holding it to her chest. "Oh, sweetheart, I miss you so much…"

She rolled onto her back again and lay very still. Looking up at the ceiling, still hugging the pillow, she wondered what to do. She had to carry on somehow, she knew that, but how? What could she do, when everything around her reminded her of the man she'd loved and lost?

She'd have a lot of explaining to do at work tomorrow. Tim's offer of compassionate leave was developing a certain appeal…

_But what would I_ _do with it? I__'__d only sit home and cry anyway. Grieving is all very well, but I have to keep busy - that__'__s the only way I__'__ll be able to cope. And I have to carry on with my job, no matter how much it reminds me of him. I__'__m a police officer. It__'__s not just a job; it__'__s part of who I am. There__'__s no way I could ever give it up._

No, she had to go back to work tomorrow, even if she did get into trouble for running off and getting drunk. She probably wouldn't; Kevin would cover up for her, just as she'd done for him in the past, but it was easy to tell your superiors that you were sick, or had been told to go home. Convincing co-workers that you were sick when you'd left the building at a dead run the previous day wasn't quite so easy to pull off.

"Oh, _God_."

The headache was getting worse. There was nothing for it; she'd have to get up and fetch the aspirin before her head exploded.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Amber sat up and put the pillow to one side. It took several more attempts before she managed to stand upright and stagger to the bathroom, unlocking the medicine cabinet with fingers made clumsy by pain and snatching the bottle of aspirin. She'd just collapsed onto the bed and swallowed a dose, along with a mouthful of warm water from the water bottle, when the phone in the kitchen began to ring.

"Ugh… damn it…"

Amber struggled to her feet again and stumbled wildly into the kitchen, clutching her aching head in one hand and reaching out for the phone with the other. She picked up the receiver and lifted it to her ear.

"Hi," she said, without enthusiasm.

There was a sniffle on the other end of the line.

"_Amber, it__'__s me_," said a subdued but familiar voice.

"Jill?" said Amber, suddenly forgetting her own troubles. "Are you all right?"

A smaller sniff this time.

"_Not really_," said Jill weakly. It sounded as though she was trying not to cry. "_Amber, I - I know you probably want to be alone right now, and n-normally I__'__d never ask, but - _"

There was a pause as Jill blew her nose; Amber winced as the sound provoked another stab of pain from her aching head.

"You want to come over, Jill?" she said, immediately guessing the rest of the question.

"_Yes please_," said Jill faintly. "_I__'__m sorry, I wouldn__'__t have asked, but it__'__s so quiet and I__'__m all alone, and I can__'__t stop thinking about what happened, and I__'__m - I__'__m kind of scared. Is it okay if I stay at your place tonight?_"

Amber felt a sudden rush of pity for her friend, whose troubles were even greater than her own. Jill had been in terrible danger and had seen unimaginable horrors and death up in the forest, and now she was alone and afraid. However, it was a strange relief to know that she wouldn't have to face this terrible evening alone, even if Jill wasn't in the best frame of mind for a visit.

"Sure, Jill," she said. "Come right on over. I'll make us some coffee."

"_Thank you_," said Jill gratefully. "_Thank you so much_."

"You're welc - " began Amber, but was interrupted by a click; Jill had already put the phone down.

In slightly better spirits now that she had something to do, even if it was only welcoming a guest, Amber replaced the phone and went to make a fresh batch of coffee.

xxxxxxxxxx

The knock on the door came slightly earlier than expected. Amber got up from her resting place on the couch and went to open the front door. There was Jill, dressed in civilian clothes - jeans, sneakers and a light blue shirt - with an overnight bag in one hand and her favourite black jacket in the other. Her hair was slightly dishevelled and her eyes looked sore; she'd obviously been crying.

"Jill," said Amber, at once relieved and dismayed. "I'm glad you're here. Come on in."

Jill stepped through the door and closed it behind her. She set down her things carefully on the floor and threw her arms around Amber's shoulders.

"Oh, Jill. Are you okay?" said Amber, holding Jill tightly.

Jill shook her head.

"No. I'm about as far from okay as you can get," she said thickly.

"Me too," Amber admitted. "I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks for letting me come over. I really need someone right now," said Jill. "Just to talk to, to keep me company, so I don't have to be alone."

"Why didn't you ask the others?" said Amber, letting go of Jill.

"Because you're my best friend," Jill said right away. "And even if I had wanted to ask the others instead, they're probably more in need of comfort than I am. Barry's with his family, Rebecca's at home trying to rest, and Brad's so messed-up that he's jumping at his own shadow; he couldn't comfort me even if he tried. And I'm not even going to _think _about asking Chris."

"I don't blame you," said Amber, smiling wanly. "Ex-boyfriends are not to be turned to for comfort unless everyone else you know has died suddenly and your cat's run away."

"I'm so sorry about Joseph, Amber," said Jill, lowering her eyes again. "I just wish there was something more I could have done to save him. We tried to help him, but it was already too late. I'm so sorry…"

"I know, Jill," said Amber. "It wasn't your fault. Whatever happened out there, I know you and the others did your best."

"If I had a second chance, if I could go back, I would have told him to stay in the helicopter, or at least done more, tried harder to keep him safe - " Jill burst out.

"Jill, don't blame yourself," Amber insisted. "You didn't know what was going to happen. How could you have known? You can't see into the future."

"I know," said Jill miserably. "I still feel like there was more I could have done."

"There wasn't," said Amber. "Trust me. If there was, you would have done it. You always do your best. But no matter how hard you train, no matter how much you practise, no matter how often you check your equipment, things go wrong, and sometimes your best just isn't enough. But your best is all you can do. You know that, Jill. All the STARS do."

"Yeah," said Jill, with a heavy sigh. "I know."

"Come on," said Amber, putting an arm around the other woman's shoulders. "You go and sit down, and I'll bring you some coffee."

Jill nodded silently and went over to sit on the couch. As Amber went into the kitchen, she glanced back and saw Jill taking off her sneakers. She couldn't help smiling a little at this. She and Jill had known each other since kindergarten; they'd been best friends for, what, seventeen, eighteen years now? They were practically sisters. If Jill had put her feet up on the couch with her sneakers on, Amber wouldn't have minded in the slightest. She probably wouldn't have minded if Jill had thrown the TV set out of the window, set fire to the couch and invited fifty people over for a drink-fuelled all-night party, before finally throwing up on the carpet and waking up the next morning in the bathtub with a half-empty bottle of vodka floating in the water next to her.

Well, all right, she mentally corrected herself, she wouldn't have minded _much_. She would definitely have forgiven her by the end of the week. Not that Jill would have done anything that crazy, of course; she was far too sensible. That was the kind of thing _she_ would have done back in high school, and Jill would probably have told her off for it too.

But even though she was perfectly welcome to abuse Amber's hospitality as much as she liked, or at least make herself completely at home and put her sneakers right up on the cushions, Jill was sitting up neatly on the couch with her feet on the floor, her sneakers placed carefully underneath the coffee table.

That was their friendship all over, thought Amber - either one of them could have behaved disgracefully and it wouldn't have mattered in the slightest, and yet there was a quiet respect embedded deeply in their friendship, so deeply that neither of them would have _contemplated_ treating the other with anything less than kindness and consideration at all times. She teased Jill for it sometimes, but she knew in her heart of hearts that she'd never put dirty feet up on Jill's couch either.

The strong, delicious smell of fresh coffee was permeating the air like fine perfume. Amber poured two cups, adding two heaped spoons of sugar to her own cup and some cream to Jill's, and brought them into the living room.

"Here you go, Jill," she said, handing over Jill's cup and setting her own down on the coffee table as she took a seat next to Jill. "Cream and no sugar, same as always."

Jill smiled weakly and took a sip.

"Perfect," she said.

"Were you expecting any different?" said Amber, with mock seriousness. "Lord knows I've made coffee for you often enough. I should be able to get it right by now."

"That's true," Jill mused.

She looked around for somewhere to put the coffee, but there weren't any coasters on the coffee table.

"Uh…"

Amber noticed Jill's hesitation right away.

"It's okay, put it on the TV guide," she told her.

"Are you sure?" said Jill.

"Oh, there's never anything on anyway," said Amber dismissively. "Joseph always buys - always _bought_ it," she corrected herself. "I hardly watch TV these days. Can't seem to find the time."

"Okay."

Jill set down the cup on the TV guide, looking slightly guilty about doing so. Amber tried not to smile.

"Jill, you know I wouldn't mind even if you did leave coffee stains on the table," she said. "It's no big deal."

"I know," said Jill, shrugging. "Just don't want to damage anything. Friends don't wreck each other's stuff. Well, maybe in high school when they're drunk," she added, after a moment's thought. "But we're too old for that now."

"Yeah," said Amber, shifting uncomfortably as she remembered her attempts to get drunk a few hours ago. "Way too old."

They sat and sipped their coffee in silence for a few minutes.

"How's Jason?" said Jill after a while.

"Oh, he's fine," said Amber. "Doing well in college. He's finally found a job, too."

"Oh?" said Jill curiously. "Where's he working?"

"You know the music store on West and 16th?" said Amber.

"Raccoon Records? Sid Ziegler's place?" said Jill, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, that's the one. He's working weekends and every afternoon that he doesn't have classes."

"Nice," said Jill, impressed. "That's a good place for a first job. Ziegler's a nice easy-going guy, and there's always plenty to do. How's the pay?"

"Minimum wage, I think," said Amber.

Jill nodded approvingly.

"That's good. Maybe he can get some staff discounts, too. They've got some great stuff in there - half of my CD collection must be from that place. Say hi to Jason for me next time you see him, tell him I asked how he was."

"I will," promised Amber. "How's Adam, by the way?"

"Still in rehab, trying to dry up, but he sounds a whole lot better," said Jill. "He called me yesterday to tell me he misses me and Sarah. He tried to apologise for calling Chris a lousy freeloading son of a bitch, too, but I told him I'd called Chris exactly the same thing when I dumped him, and we ended up laughing about it."

"So you're speaking to him again?" said Amber.

"Yeah," said Jill, with a faint smile. "It's hard to stay mad with him for long. I guess it's the old Valentine charm."

"How about Sarah?" asked Amber.

"Starting her first year at university soon," replied Jill. "She can't wait."

"Is she going to RCU?" said Amber.

"No, it's no good for the degree she wants to do. She's going to study in Nebraska," said Jill.

"Nebraska are meant to have a really good football team, aren't they?" said Amber.

"Yeah, that's what I heard. Shame the only involvement Sarah ever had with sport was sleeping with a quarterback back in high school," said Jill, laughing.

"Can't say I blame her. I don't like watching football much either," said Amber.

"Oh, I don't know," said Jill wistfully. "I kind of like it. Remember I joined in one time back in high school? I scored a touchdown _and _made that jerk Dwight Peterson cry. That was the best day of my life, I'm telling you."

"What?" exclaimed Amber. "I don't remember that! When did _that_ happen?"

"I think it was back in the ninth grade when you were stuck at home with flu," said Jill.

"Oh, yeah, I guess it must have been," said Amber, slightly disappointed. "But you never told me you made Dwight Peterson _cry_… what did you do to him?"

"Well, I - " Jill began.

"Wait a minute, I'm going to fetch some cookies," interrupted Amber, standing up. "You must be hungry."

"I am a little," Jill admitted.

"Okay. Be right back."

Amber returned a moment later with a plate and the box of cookies that had almost landed on her head that morning. She opened the box and scattered cookies on the plate, then sat back on the couch next to Jill.

"All right, so tell me what happened," she said eagerly. "I have to hear this…"

"Well," Jill began again, taking a cookie from the plate. "It started when that _bitch_ Cindy Lennox got her new cheerleader uniform and started making snide comments to the other girls about how they could never be a cheerleader like her. Someone else mentioned something about not wanting to be a cheerleader because football was lame, so she started lecturing us about how incredible all those football players were and how great football was, and how we'd never understand the game properly because we never even bothered to watch the team play."

"So how did you get involved?" said Amber, through a mouthful of crumbs.

"I'm getting to that," said Jill impatiently. "Anyway, she was shooting her stupid mouth off about how all those hunky football players were so great at what they did, and then _I_ told her that anybody with two brain cells to rub together could play football. She bet me that unlike her boyfriend - I think she was talking about Dwight, that week at least - I wouldn't last two seconds in a football game, so then I asked one of the guys on the team if they could lend me a uniform and organise a friendly game to show Cindy a thing or two. He laughed for a while but said I could go ahead and play if I wanted… so the day came around and I joined in with the game at half-time. Things were going okay until Dwight laughed at me and tried to trip me up, and then I got really mad, so I - "

Amber listened intently to the story, but as Jill carried on talking animatedly about her high school reminiscences, it gradually stole over Amber that they were making small talk purely so that they could avoid making big talk. Each little bit of conversation seemed to be carefully skirting around the edges of the big black chasm of depression that was the recent tragedy in their lives; it seemed to her that they were talking about the first thing that came into their heads, no matter how trivial, just so that they could avoid thinking or talking about the fallen STARS.

From then on, the conversation wasn't quite the same. Every time they switched from topic to topic, Amber couldn't help noticing the deliberate avoidance of anything involving work, or the STARS, or current affairs of any kind; the semi-denial of what had just happened to them seemed to taint every word that came out of their mouths. She was quite glad when the heap of cookies diminished in size and the coffee ran out.

"It's getting dark now," Jill observed. "What time is it?"

"Eight forty-seven," said Amber, looking at the clock on the wall. "What time do you start work tomorrow?"

"First thing," said Jill. "You?"

"Same," said Amber.

"We'd better turn in for the night," said Jill. "Where do you want me to sleep?"

"Anywhere you like," said Amber, with a shrug. "Couch, floor, bathtub, take your pick. You can even have my bed if you want, and I'll sleep on the couch. I don't mind."

"I guess the couch is probably the best place for me," said Jill. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of your nice warm bed. Do you have any spare blankets, or do you want me to go home and fetch some from my place?"

"No, it's okay," said Amber, picking up the detritus of their communal snack. "I've got some in the bottom of my closet. You need pillows?"

"The cushions'll do fine, don't worry," Jill assured her.

"Anything else you need?" said Amber, as she walked into the kitchen, discarding the empty box and dumping the plate and cups in the sink.

"No, that's just fine," Jill called from the living room.

Amber leaned back into the room to finish off the conversation.

"Well, if you need anything, just let me know, okay?" she said.

"Will do," promised Jill. "Thank you."

"No problem. Night."

"Night."

Amber left Jill to get ready for bed, and went into her room. The darkness outside was creeping into the room, and she turned on the lamp on the nightstand to chase it away again.

She kicked off her boots and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull off her socks. With a brief, sorrowful glance at the empty bed, she finished undressing and changed into her favourite pyjamas. They were the ultimate comfort clothes; soft, fuzzy and warm, they always made her feel a little better whenever she was sad.

She crept into bed and pulled the covers over her, trying not to concentrate on how cold and empty the bed felt without Joseph by her side.

_I miss you_…

Pushing the thought away, trying hard to ignore the sounds of passing cars and a television blaring at full volume in the apartment below her, Amber turned off the light and tried to go to sleep.


	3. Past The Mission

**3: Past The Mission**

**Sunday 26th July, 1998**

Getting up that morning was possibly the hardest thing that Amber had ever done. It had been so difficult to will herself to get up; she'd seen no point in rising from her bed ever again. Still, she'd managed it somehow, and now she was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, yawning as she raked the hairbrush through her tangled curls.

It had been a difficult night. She'd been woken numerous times by the sound of Jill screaming in the night, and every time she'd had to get up and make sure that she was okay. On one occasion it had taken almost an hour for her to calm Jill down, and another twenty minutes to try and get to sleep again. After several episodes of this, Amber had been about ready to scream with sleepless frustration and had twice wished that she hadn't allowed Jill to stay the night.

The disturbances in her sleeping patterns had left her exhausted, but Heaven only knew how Jill would have coped without her last night. Sleeplessness was but a small price to pay for her closest friend's safety and well-being, she told herself.

"Ow!"

Amber stopped to disentangle the strands of hair trapped in the little plastic bristles, and carried on brushing. She stared into the mirror as the brush went through her hair, occasionally wincing as the bristles ripped through an untidy curl or two.

How was she going to get through the day? What was she going to say to her bemused colleagues after having rushed outside so suddenly yesterday, without explanation? Was she going to get into trouble for having left so suddenly? If so, what could she do to get herself out of it again?

"Ow!"

Amber yanked the hairbrush out of her hair again and glared at the uncooperative grooming implement.

_I should shave my head. That or get dreadlocks. At least then I wouldn__'__t have to struggle with my hair every morning. I wouldn__'__t get through so many hairbrushes, either._

She tried again to brush her hair into something approaching normal and well-groomed. The hairbrush immediately got stuck again.

"Ow! _Damn it_!" Amber shrieked, and tugged at the hairbrush, trying to wrench it free yet again.

This time, however, the brush was firmly enmeshed in a spider's web of strawberry-blonde hairs; there was no pulling it out again, at least not without having to cut out a considerable clump of hair.

Amber, on the other hand, had no intention of either cutting away whole swathes of hair - or of going around the precinct all day with a hairbrush dangling from her curls. She grabbed the brush and pulled as hard as she could, attempting at the same time to pull the tangled hairs free of it. This resulted in slightly more hair on the carpet and shrill screams.

There was another scream, and then the mirror exploded.

Amber panicked and threw herself to the ground, rolling underneath the bed as a bullet smashed the glass and buried itself in the mirror frame. It was followed in quick succession by several more.

Glass tinkled on the floor. There was no other sound apart from someone breathing heavily. Terrified, Amber peeked out from underneath the bed to see who had shot at her.

Standing amid the shards of mirror, in a nightshirt and an incongruous pair of pink bunny slippers, was a bleary-eyed Jill with a bad case of bed hair. She was still panting, and brandishing a Beretta handgun at nothing in particular.

"Jill, what the hell's going on?" Amber exclaimed, crawling out from underneath the bed and peering over the edge.

For the first time, Jill focused on what was in front of her and saw the bullet-ridden mirror, the glass on the floor and a stunned Amber, still in her pyjamas and with a hairbrush stuck in her curly hair, staring at her in absolute incomprehension.

Instantly Jill's face crumpled. Her right arm fell to her side, the gun now pointing harmlessly down at the floor. She lowered her head and, covering her face with her other hand, started to sob uncontrollably.

At first, Amber didn't have any idea what had just happened. Then it suddenly occurred to her; she'd screamed. Jill must have thought that she was in danger and sprung to the rescue, still jacked-up on fear and adrenaline from her mission - she'd been running on automatic and hadn't known what she was doing. Now mortified by how close she'd come to hurting someone she cared about without even realising it, Jill was in tears.

For a while Amber didn't dare move, for fear of aggravating her friend's fragile mental state even further. After a few moments, she got up slowly and walked across the glass-strewn carpet to Jill, who was still inconsolable with grief.

"Jill, are you okay?" she said softly.

"Are you? Did I hurt you?" said Jill anxiously, wiping her eyes. "Oh, God, I can't believe I just did that… I'm so _stupid_! I could have killed you! And look what I did to your mirror!"

"Forget the mirror, it's not important," said Amber hastily. "Jill, what just happened? Were you dreaming again?"

Jill shook her head. Tears were running down her face.

"No, I was fast asleep," she said. "But I must've woken up when I heard you scream and come running straight in to save you from the monsters, without even checking if there _were _any monsters first before I - oh, God. I'm an idiot. There aren't any zombies here. I almost killed you over nothing! I - "

"Jill, it's all right. Calm down," said Amber.

"It's not all right," said Jill hysterically. "If you hadn't been quick enough jumping out of the way, you could be dead by now, I could have - "

"Now Jill," said Amber, grabbing Jill and forcing her to look at her. "Stop it. Just calm down. I'm not hurt, and there aren't any monsters. I got my hairbrush caught in my hair again, that's all. Everything's all right. Really."

Jill returned the gaze for a heartbeat or two, then dissolved into tears again. Amber hugged her tightly and let her cry on her shoulder.

_Oh, Jill. What__'__s happened to you? The only thing that ever used to make you cry was serious injury or reading __"__The Bridges of Madison County__"__. This is awful. I can__'__t believe what this mission has done to you - to all the STARS, and me too. How could this have happened to people like us? What did we do to deserve this?_

"It's all right," Amber lied, knowing that there was nothing else that she could say. "It's all right, Jill. Don't cry."

"But it's not all right, Amber! Our friends are dead!" yelled Jill, breaking free of Amber's hug and stepping backwards. "It's easy for you to try and pretend that things aren't so bad! I was there when Enrico got shot, and when Joseph was killed! I saw Kenneth's head being chewed off by a zombie! I saw Forest's poor dead body get up and try to _eat_ me! Richard died right in front of me, goddamn it! It's all right for you, you can always get another boyfriend! I can't forget what happened to me that night and you're telling me not to cry? That it's _all_ _right_? Well, it's not all right! It's not, and neither am I!"

Shocked by Jill's outburst, Amber opened and closed her mouth as she tried to find the right response. After several attempts, she settled on an apology.

"Jill, I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just wanted you to stop crying and - and I didn't know what else to say. I didn't mean to upset you. I know it's not all right."

"I know," said Jill miserably, and she wiped her streaming eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry too. It's not your fault. And I'm sorry for what I said about Joseph. I know how much you loved him."

"Yeah," said Amber, trying to blink back tears. "I don't know how I'm going to manage without him, Jill. I really don't."

"Don't worry, Amber," said Jill. "You have more friends at the precinct than you realise. Things will get better one day, but until then, you've got a whole bunch of shoulders to cry on."

"I've got a lot of good friends, I know," Amber agreed. "I'm grateful for that, if nothing else. But we're going to be late for work. We already missed breakfast while we were trying to kill each other."

"Sorry about your mirror, Amber," said Jill, going red. "I'll pay for that."

"Oh, don't bother," said Amber with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It was a moving-in present from my aunt and I never liked it much anyway. I'm more worried about the seven years' bad luck."

Jill managed to smile at this comment.

"Yeah. Sorry about that too," she said.

"Don't be," said Amber, shrugging. "I lost the love of my life two days ago, my best friend's a nervous wreck, there's glass all over my bedroom floor, I'm probably going to lose my job for running off yesterday, and I'm going to have this damn hairbrush stuck in my hair for the rest of my life. Frankly, I don't see how things could get much worse."

This time the apologetic smile became a grin.

"You could always start a new trend," said Jill, trying to keep a straight face. "Hairbrushes could be stuck in people's hair all over the city next season. You never know."

Amber started to laugh.

"We must look like a couple of weirdos right now," she said. "Me in pyjamas with a hairbrush stuck in my hair, you in a nightshirt with a gun and a pair of - of _bunny slippers__…"_

The two women burst into a fit of giggles, clutching each other's shoulders and laughing helplessly until their eyes streamed with tears.

"Okay, we really have to get to work now," said Amber, still laughing as she tried to remove the hairbrush from her hair.

"Yeah, we're going to be late as it is," said Jill, struggling to catch her breath again. "Here, let me help you with that…"

xxxxxxxxxx

**Monday 27th July, 1998**

"Joseph was a good guy."

The room was a sea of tear-stained faces, their owners clad in solemn black. They sat in neat and regimented rows, listening in a respectful silence that was broken only by a few muffled sobs and the occasional sniffle.

"He was one of the best friends anyone could ever have," continued the speaker, a young cop, who was clutching his cap and turning it over nervously in his hands as he spoke to those assembled. "He really cared about people, and I think - I think that's one of the things that made him such a good cop. He was a good guy, and he cared about people, and he wanted to make a difference in the world. And he made a big difference. Not just to his family and his friends, but to the rest of the force, to the whole of Raccoon City. He helped so many people in so many ways, and we're all going to miss him very much. It won't be the same without him."

The young cop swallowed hard, then gathered his nerves together and stepped down from the podium. There was no applause; nobody had been expecting any. He'd said what he felt ought to be said when paying tribute to his fallen friend, and that was it.

Through a mist of tears, Amber could see Joseph's mother sobbing quietly a few seats to her left. Mrs Frost had always been close to her youngest son and had been devastated by his death. She'd been close to Amber, too, and there had been several long and tearful phone conversations between them over the weekend.

Amber looked around the room and saw a host of familiar faces. There were various friends and relatives of the dead STARS members, most of them in tears and one or two sobbing openly. The Chief was there, naturally, silent and unmoving. Next to him was the Mayor of Raccoon City, Michael Warren, a small and weedy-looking man with a smart suit, shiny shoes and a neat little moustache. His hair was thinning and he was blinking owlishly at the podium through a pair of spectacles. He was accompanied by his wife, Sheryl, an enormous blonde woman in a suit that completely dispelled the myth that black could be slimming, and his two grown-up children - his golden-haired daughter Beverley, a beauty if ever there was one, and his son Tony, a dashing young rogue known throughout the precinct for his ponytail, his leather jacket and his cavalier attitude to the law.

Amber spotted Marvin and Tim in the row behind her, both men deep in quiet contemplation. Alan and Jodie were absent, having been put on patrol at the last minute against their will, but she did notice David Ford sitting quietly in his seat. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed; his lips were moving silently, as if in prayer.

Standing towards the back with Gus, Bernice and the other secretaries was Kenny, looking slightly lost and sad next to a very subdued Kevin. Kevin noticed her and smiled, or at least tried to; it was a brave attempt, Amber knew, but his heart obviously wasn't in it.

Up on the podium, an officer named Elliot Edward, whom she'd previously known only by sight, was paying tribute to the fallen STARS Bravo Team members. One by one he went through the names; Enrico Marini, Forest Speyer, Richard Aiken, Edward Dewey, Kenneth J. Sullivan, Kevin Dooley.

Amber took out her handkerchief, which had worn thin from a week's near-constant use, and dabbed at her streaming eyes. She adjusted the neckline of her black dress, then folded the soggy handkerchief back up and into her little black purse. This done, she took a quick look at the surviving STARS members around her.

On her left was Barry, ashen-faced and the very picture of misery. He stared unhappily ahead as Elliot stumbled over his words up on the podium, apparently not taking in a word of what the man was trying to say. Next to him was Chris, grim-faced and silent, listening intently to Elliot's halting tribute to Kevin Dooley, the Bravo Team's "talented and professional" pilot.

On her right was Jill, sniffling quietly into some wadded-up tissues. She hadn't been coping well and had stayed at Amber's apartment last night too, meaning another interrupted night's sleep and many long hours spent consoling her. However, she was a veritable ray of sunshine compared to Rebecca and Brad; Rebecca had barely stopped crying since her return, and the look on Brad's face right now was the terrible haunted look of a man tormented by guilt.

Amber heard the name of her late boyfriend as Elliot began to speak again. She felt the tears welling up automatically in her eyes, but this time she blinked them back and reached for her handkerchief again. No more sobbing, she decided; enough was enough. She had to be strong if she was going to help Jill and the others through this.

Before long, Elliot reached the last name on his list - Captain Albert Wesker. He looked anxious and uncertain for a moment, but ploughed straight on nevertheless.

"Captain Wesker was a good captain. He was highly intelligent and a true professional who was dedicated to his work. He taught the STARS members everything they knew and shaped them into the RPD's finest. His skills and leadership qualities were exemplary; he'll definitely be missed by everyone here at the precinct."

Amber noticed a sudden change in the atmosphere; the tears around her had stopped, and now the surviving STARS members were glaring up at the unfortunate Elliot for having dared to praise their former captain. Even sweet, mild-mannered Rebecca looked suddenly incensed at the mention of Wesker's name. Amber could feel the tension in the air tightening like a vice around them.

_Hah. He__'__ll be missed, all right_, she thought. _He__'__s just lucky he was killed before these guys got to him first. Jill looks as though she wishes he__'__d survived, just so she could have killed him herself. And I don__'__t blame her. That lying, treacherous bastard is the reason why seven good men are dead - including the one I loved. I__'__m glad he__'__s dead and gone._

She looked up. Elliot had finished, and now Chief Irons was on his way up to the podium. He cleared his throat and announced:

"I'd like to thank you all for coming here today. To conclude this memorial service, I would like you all to stand and join me in singing hymn number 144..."

There was a general rustling of hymn book pages, followed by the scraping of chairs and the sound of shuffling feet as people stood up. The first few chords of the hymn rang out, and Amber joined in midway through the first line, remembering that she should be paying her respects to her dead friends and not looking around to see what everybody else was doing.

The service finally came to an end, and the congregation filed slowly out of the RPD's chapel, walking along the gravel path and heading back towards the police station. Amber waited at the doors until the other STARS members had caught up with her. They nodded quietly as they saw her, their way of greeting her when they were too choked-up with grief to speak.

Some minutes later, when they were almost at the front doors of the station and the other mourners were not in evidence, Amber ventured:

"That was a nice service."

"Yeah," said Jill at last, after a measured pause. "It was. Everyone was really nice about Joseph. They all had plenty of good stuff to say about him, and all the others too."

"I - I liked what Officer Edward said about Enrico," said Rebecca quietly. "I thought that was just right."

"Me too," agreed Barry. "He did a pretty good job of paying his respects, considering how nervous he was. Never seen anybody shake so much while delivering a speech."

"I can't believe what he said about Wesker," snapped Chris, who was clearly in no mood for pleasantries. "How could he bring himself to spout that mealy-mouthed _bullshit _about how Wesker was a good captain? Good captains don't stab their own teams in the back and leave them to die!"

Brad was looking decidedly uncomfortable at this choice of words, and Amber remembered what he'd said to her on the rooftop.

"No, Brad," she murmured, so that only he could hear her. "What you did was different. You flew away because you had to - you said so yourself. If you hadn't, none of them would have come home at all. It's probably thanks to you that any of the STARS made it back alive. You didn't betray your friends, or leave them to die. It wasn't your fault."

Brad looked at her gratefully, with wide eyes that looked slightly sore and red-rimmed.

"Thanks, Amber," he murmured back, before lowering his gaze again.

Once again, in pieces, little bits of recollection came back to Amber. Words, phrases snatched themselves out of her memory and paraded through her mind like badly-organised soldiers, thoughts whirling around them all the while in a frantic waltz.

_I avoid Captain Wesker even at the best of times. That guy scares the crap out of me…_

_Boy, I'd hate to be the one who gets on his bad side._

_I'm worried about Bravo Team… Enrico, Forest, Richard and the others. And especially Rebecca… I know all the rumours about cannibalistic cults are probably just bullshit, but…_

… _truth is, I'm scared. You heard the stories about what's happening out near Raccoon Forest?_

_I don't know what happened out there, and in all honesty, I'm not sure I want to._

_You don't want to know. Trust me, you really don't want to know what happened out there…_

_The STARS say they've seen zombies in the forest…_

_There were zombies and leeches and giant scorpions and snakes and everything! _

_That traitor tried to kill us all…_

_Richard died right in front of me, goddamn it!_

…_all that time we trusted him, and it turns out he was working for them…_

_Umbrella. Don't believe their lies…_

… _never would have believed it…_

_I never meant to leave them like that! _

_If I had a second chance, if I could go back…_

_We should've listened yesterday… _

_We should have listened…_

_And… we didn't._

_I'm sorry we didn't._

"Guys?" said Amber suddenly. Amid the confusion of her thoughts, there were little threads of order that would make perfect sense to her, if she could only tie them all together.

"Jill kind of told me a little about the mission, although I still don't really understand what happened out there," she continued, all too aware that the STARS' eyes were upon her and that they were hanging onto her every word. "But I want to understand, because there's something I have to know."

"What is it, Amber?" said Brad.

Amber took a deep breath.

"How did Joseph die?"

"Amber," began Barry uneasily. "I'm not sure if we should - "

"I don't care, Barry," said Amber, slightly surprised by the unexpected fierceness of the words escaping from her lips. "Whatever it is, it doesn't matter to me, not any more."

"To know what we know could put you in real danger, Amber," warned Chris. "Jill may have told you a little already, but as far as you know, it's all a big wild story. You probably don't even really believe it, and they're going to be banking on that. But once you've seen the evidence with your own eyes, then there'll be no doubt in your mind that it happened. Once you've seen it, Amber, that's it - there's no going back. Knowing what we know could very well be the death of you."

He stopped and looked Amber straight in the eye.

"Now, Amber, tell us," he said sharply. "Are you sure - _really_ sure - that you want to know what happened out there? You really want to know what happened to Joseph?"

"Yes," said Amber, her voice barely more than a soft whisper. "I'm sure."

"How sure?" Chris demanded to know.

"Certain," Amber told him straight away. "Please, Chris; I have to know how he died. I can't live out the rest of my days, not knowing how or why he vanished from my life for good. I _have _to know. I just have to…"

"All right, then," said Chris, with one final nod. "Come with us."

xxxxxxxxxx

The door slammed shut behind them. Quick as a flash, Chris pulled the key from the pocket of his suit. He was just about to start turning it in the lock when they heard a hesitant knock on the door.

With a sigh, Chris pulled the key out again and opened the door.

"Go away, this is - " he began, then faltered mid-sentence. Standing outside the door was Kenny, carrying several boxes of doughnuts and a huge pitcher of coffee.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," he said meekly. "I brought you guys these…"

Chris couldn't help smiling.

"Hey, sport," he said, ruffling Kenny's hair affectionately.

The younger boy tried hard not to wince at this, but Amber could tell that he was irritated by it. She sympathised; it was hard being fifteen years old, hard-working and frequently patronised.

"Don't do that, Chris," said Jill, walking briskly over to the door and taking the pitcher from Kenny's hands. "Thanks, Kenny. Could you put those on my desk for me, please?"

"Sure," said Kenny, who was already halfway across the room. He knew the routine by now; coffee and doughnuts was a time-honoured ritual at the precinct, but the STARS were among the few who got theirs delivered straight to their door. Tradition demanded that the most junior members of the force performed this task, and as a young volunteer still in high school, this task had automatically fallen to Kenny. He didn't seem to mind, though; he got on well with the STARS, except maybe Chris.

"Is there anything else, Kenny? Mail or anything like that?" said Chris hopefully.

Kenny shook his head, and put the last box of doughnuts carefully on Jill's desk. Chris' face fell slightly.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, Kenny, we've got some important things to discuss. You know, STARS business," he told the boy.

Kenny glanced curiously at Amber, possibly wondering what she was doing there, then looked back up at Chris again.

"If you could let everyone know that we don't want to be disturbed for a while... this really is important," Chris continued. "Some of the material we're discussing is very sensitive and - well, I'm sure you can appreciate that we don't want anyone just walking in and overhearing it. Just put the word out, maybe rustle up one of those "Meeting in progress" signs from one of the conference rooms. Can you do that for us? We'd be really grateful."

Kenny nodded.

"Great. Thanks, Kenny. You run along now, okay, champ?" said Chris.

Amber saw Kenny wince again, but he still didn't say anything. Instead he looked at her and said:

"Okay. Officer Bernstein, do you want to come with me and get some coffee?"

Amber knew a concealed question when she saw it. It seemed innocent enough on the surface, but she knew that what Kenny _really_ meant was "Are you just dropping by to say hi on your way back to work, or are you going to be sitting in on the STARS meeting?"

"No thanks, Kenny," she told him. "I might be here a little while. I've got some stuff to take care of before I get back to work."

A sudden flash of inspiration struck her.

"Yeah," she continued. "Jill and the others are going to help me go through Joseph's belongings. I think there's some stuff in there that his family might want to have returned. I figured I might as well get it over with sooner rather than later, so I don't have to disturb the others while they're working."

Kenny shifted his head, ever so slightly, to look at Jill and Chris; as Amber had expected, they nodded silently, subtly confirming her answer. This seemed to satisfy his natural curiosity.

"Okay," he said. "I'll put the word out for you guys. Catch you later, Officer Bernstein."

As soon as he was gone, Chris swiftly locked the door and put a chair in front of it, just to make sure. This done, the STARS gathered around Amber and, dropping their voices to murmurs, they told her everything.

It had started with the initial landing in the darkness of the forest, and the unexpected discovery of a badly-mutilated corpse - possibly that of Bravo Team's pilot, but it was hard to tell in the dark - and the sudden arrival of snarling mutant dogs, hungry for human flesh. Before the others could even react, they'd gone straight for Joseph and killed him.

"Did he suffer?" said Amber, in tears despite her best efforts. "Please tell me he didn't…"

"No, Amber," said Barry, squeezing her shoulder gently. "I don't think he did. It was all over very quickly. He wouldn't have suffered much."

"And you're not just saying that to stop me from being upset?" said Amber.

"Amber, you're a true cop," said Barry, with a wan smile. "Never met anyone so suspicious and cynical in my entire life. No, I'm not, but I can understand why you'd think that. Nobody wants to hurt someone they care about with an unpleasant truth."

"Yeah," said Amber, sniffing.

Jill instantly produced a fresh pack of tissues from the pocket of her elegantly-cut black suit and handed them to Amber.

"There you go, hon," she told her. "I figured we might need some spares between us."

"You know me too well," said Amber, taking them gratefully and blowing her nose. "Thanks, Jill."

"Don't mention it."

"So," said Amber, once she'd recovered, "Joseph was killed and you ran into this mansion to take cover? What happened then?"

Brad remained silent; his part in the story was over for now, and he was a little hazy on the details of what happened inside the mansion. He stood by, letting Chris, Jill and Barry take up the story again. Rebecca occasionally pitched in with a comment, but otherwise said little.

The basic outline of what had happened ran thus:

Chris, Jill, Wesker and Barry had run into the mansion to take cover from the dogs after Brad's forced take-off. Chris had somehow become separated from the group and Wesker had ordered Jill and Barry to go and look for him. Jill had encountered her first zombie shortly afterwards; she'd seen it feasting on the newly-decapitated corpse of Kenneth Sullivan. Terrified, she'd fled, but the thing had followed her, and Barry had promptly killed it. They'd returned to the hall to report to Wesker, only to find that the captain had mysteriously vanished. They'd split up in search of him, Chris and anyone else they could find, and that was when their troubles had really begun.

Amber listened, both horrified and enthralled by the tale of their ordeal. She heard accounts of zombie attacks and packs of dogs, spiders the size of cars, snakes and carnivorous plants the size of rooms, Chris' first meeting with Rebecca, and Rebecca's narrow escape from something that the others had called a "Hunter". Apparently this had been some sort of giant green scaly thing that could leap like a frog and almost kill you with a swipe of razor-like claws. It sounded unbelievable; most people would have said it was. But Amber, watching her friends' faces as they recounted the story, had no doubts that this was all true.

The one thing that puzzled her was the account of Richard's death. Jill had told her before that she'd found him in a corridor, poisoned by a giant snake. She'd given him the anti-venom serum and he'd helped her to fight off the snake, but had been eaten whole in the process. However, Chris had contradicted her, claiming that Richard had been cured by Rebecca, and that Richard had later been eaten by a shark in a waterlogged underground lab.

There had been a brief argument about this, but Barry had intervened with the most sensible explanation - Richard must have received two doses of serum at different times, one from Jill and one from Rebecca, and later managed to escape from the belly of the snake after Jill saw him being eaten. After all, he'd been eaten whole and must therefore have been basically unharmed. If he'd cut his way out of the snake with the standard survival knife that all STARS members were issued with, then he would have survived and been able to join Chris, just in time to be eaten by a shark.

"But the snake would have died if he'd cut it open from the inside, wouldn't it?" argued Chris. "I remember killing that snake and it sure as hell didn't have a big hole in its stomach!"

"Maybe there were two snakes?" suggested Rebecca hopefully.

"Two snakes that size? No, Rebecca, that's not possible," said Jill.

"That wasn't a normal snake, remember," Barry reminded them. "It was a mutant, affected by the T-Virus. Perhaps it was able to regenerate somehow, maybe heal itself after Richard cut it open. That must be the way it happened."

"That's a lousy explanation," said Chris stubbornly.

"Do you have a better one?" said Barry, raising an eyebrow.

"Well… no," admitted Chris. "But it seems pretty unlikely."

"After a night in that mansion, unlikely's pretty much the order of the day," said Jill. "I agree with Barry. That must have been what happened. There's no other way to explain it."

The story continued on. Jill, Chris, Barry and Rebecca had made their own separate ways through the mansion and discovered more and more of its monsters and traps. They'd solved bizarre puzzles and uncovered secrets, and chief among its secrets had been the mansion's origins and purpose.

"Jill told you that Umbrella was involved in all this," said Chris. "She was right. Umbrella's founder hired an architect named George Trevor to build him the mansion, supposedly as some sort of holiday resort for Umbrella employees. Trevor was imprisoned in the mansion and died trying to escape. His wife and daughter were kidnapped and experimented on with some sort of virus. The wife died but the daughter survived and became this _weird_ monster. We fought her off a couple of times and eventually she jumped to her death. We think it's because she found her mother's remains, but we're not really sure. She was pretty far gone by then."

"The mansion contained several underground laboratories," Jill continued. "Umbrella used them for developing a new biological weapon called the T-Virus. There was some kind of leak a couple of months ago and the virus infected the people working there, turning them into zombies. It affected other organisms as well, hence all the monsters, and it's started to spread out into the surrounding area. Umbrella made these monsters and Wesker's been working for them all along - they told him to lure the STARS to the mansion, sabotage our helicopters and ensure that we all died, so we wouldn't be able to investigate and tell everyone about Umbrella's bioweapons programme. Umbrella's the reason why our friends are dead."

Amber was filled with a sudden rage. The pharmaceuticals company which had done so much for the city, the company whose products she had used and trusted for many years - they'd killed Joseph and Bravo Team? No wonder the surviving STARS members were so angry with both Umbrella and the late Captain Wesker. They had every right to be!

"What happened to Wesker?" she asked. "Surely he didn't kill himself?"

"He should have," said Barry furiously. "He made me betray Jill! He told me he'd have my wife and children killed if I didn't agree to help him. I would have given anything to say no, but I couldn't let anybody hurt my family. I didn't know what else to do…"

"It's all right, Barry," said Jill soothingly. "Nobody's mad with you for doing what you did."

"Wesker was killed by a Tyrant," explained Chris. "A giant zombie that had been affected by the T-Virus in a different way to normal human beings. Some kind of difference in the DNA, I think. It killed him and then it came after us, but we managed to blow it up with a rocket launcher right before we escaped. Wesker deserved what happened to him, especially after he tried to kill Rebecca."

"He _what_?" gasped Amber.

"Lucky for me I had a bulletproof vest on, or I'd be dead now," said Rebecca, nodding.

"He threatened Barry's family and then - he tried to hurt Rebecca? That monster!" cried Amber, leaping to her feet. The chair that she'd been sitting on fell backwards and clattered to the floor. "I can't believe he could betray you all like that! All for that stinking company! They've stabbed us all in the back! They killed Joseph! Oh, I'm going to make them pay for this! How dare they do this to us? _How dare they?_"

"Amber, calm down!" Jill urged her. "People will overhear you! Look, I know you're angry, we _all_ are, but we have to stay calm. We're going to write up our report on the incident and send it to the Chief, so we can start getting to the bottom of this. Umbrella won't be allowed to get away with what it's done."

Simmering with rage and disgust, Amber nevertheless picked up her chair and sat down again.

"So now what?" she said shortly.

"We write up our report," Jill repeated. "We send it to the Chief, because this is going to be a high-profile investigation. We'll need a lot of time and resources, and a _lot_ of officers. We're dealing with a big corporation and they can afford to hire some very good lawyers. This isn't going to be easy. In the meantime, Amber, you have to stay calm and keep quiet."

"Keep _quiet_? When they killed Joseph and the others? How can I - " Amber began, but with amazing presence of mind, Brad hastily clapped his hand over her mouth.

"Shut up!" he said, looking around with a fearful expression, as if he was expecting Umbrella's security guards to break down the door and drag them all away kicking and screaming at any minute. "Amber, they tried to _kill _us to make sure we never found out the truth! Now that we do know, we're all in terrible danger. They're going to try and take us out for sure, and if they think you know what we've just told you, then you're a target too! If they find out that you know about the mansion incident, you're as good as dead! Whatever you do, you can't say a word about this investigation! You mustn't!"

"But - " Amber protested, pulling Brad's hand away. "But Brad - "

"You mustn't!" Brad insisted shrilly. "You can't say a word! Don't you think we've lost enough of our friends already? I like you, Amber! You're a nice lady! I don't want you to die, and neither does anyone else here! Please, for the love of God… please keep this to yourself. If you care about us, then don't let on that you know the truth. As far as you know, something weird happened in the mountains and lots of the STARS team got killed by monsters. That's all you know. Right?"

Amber opened her mouth to protest again, but saw the look of terror on Brad's face and relented.

"All right, Brad," she said. "Because you're my friends and I care about you. I never heard a word of what you guys just told me and I'm only vaguely aware that something bad happened in the mountains. As far as I know, Umbrella's not related to this in any conceivable way - not until we make the case public, anyway."

Brad sagged with undisguised relief.

"Thank you," he said. "We're all very glad you said that. We probably shouldn't have told you anyway, but you had a right to know what really happened out there. And we can trust you to keep a secret."

"Chris mentioned something about evidence," said Amber, suddenly remembering. "Can I see it? I mean, I understand if you don't want to show me, if it's top-secret or something, because I'm not part of STARS and it really isn't my business and - "

She stopped as Barry put a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Of course you can," he told her. "I think Joseph would have wanted you to know the truth. And if it helps you believe us, if it means you're the only person in the entire precinct who won't think we're insane, then by all means, go ahead. Rebecca, can you dig out the evidence file?"

"I'm on it," said Rebecca, with a jaunty little salute that looked quite out of place on someone who was wearing a smart black dress and not her usual STARS uniform. She went over to the safe in the corner of the STARS office and, after some fiddling with the combination, took out a bulging file and placed it reverentially on her own desk.

"Here it is," she told Amber. "The proof that this isn't just a crazy story. See for yourself."

Amber sat down in Rebecca's chair and leafed through the file. It was an untidy mass of reports, diaries, letters, photographs, newspaper cuttings and various other scraps of paper. She examined each one carefully; her expression of horror deepened with each piece of evidence she picked up. By the time she'd reached the filthy scraps of paper covered in the untidy scrawls that served as the unfortunate Lisa Trevor's post-infection diary entries, and the tattered family photograph of the dead Trevors, she could go on no further.

"Oh, God…" she gasped. "This is horrible! That poor little girl!"

She shook her head in disbelief and then buried it in her hands. Rebecca tactfully slid the file out from underneath Amber's arms and took it away, heading back in the direction of the safe.

"I can't understand how anyone could have done all this," said Amber, partly to herself but mostly to the world in general. "How could anyone bring themselves to commit such _atrocities_?"

"We don't know either," said Jill sadly. "Maybe one day we'll know, although I'm not sure I want to find out. The point is, we can't let it happen again. Umbrella has to be brought to justice."

Amber looked up again and saw the three men and two women in front of her; Chris and Barry, both in smart and well-fitting dark suits, and Brad looking awkward in an old black suit that was slightly too tight. Jill, in her elegant suit and high heels, looking every inch the smart and sophisticated woman that Amber knew that she could never be. Rebecca, looking more pale and delicate than ever in her black dress, a tiny little black purse clutched tightly in both hands.

Her friends. They'd suffered more than she could ever have imagined, and now they had to bear the intolerable burden of having to fight the good fight against a powerful, influential, incredibly wealthy and very dangerous multi-national corporation that could have them all killed if it so desired. They would probably have to fight alone, too. People were already whispering that the STARS had gone crazy, and Amber wondered if she was the only one who believed them.

_Oh, guys. You don__'__t deserve to be punished like this, for being good people. I don__'__t want you to have to do this alone, with people plotting and whispering behind your backs. I don__'__t know how, but I have to help you somehow, in any way that I can__…_

"Amber?" said Chris after a moment. "We're going home to change for work in a few minutes. Do you want to sort out Joseph's stuff before we go?"

Amber nodded; it had been little more than a handy excuse earlier on, but now that she was here, she figured that she might as well get it over with.

"Okay," she told him. "Can you guys help me, though? I'm finding it a little hard right now…"

"Of course we will," said Barry understandingly. "It's hard doing stuff like this. I've had to watch people clear out friends' and relatives' lockers before, and they always find it tough. We put Bravo Team's stuff in the cupboard yesterday. I'll show you where Joseph's things are."

Barry led Amber to the large metal locker in the far corner of the STARS office, next to the bank of communications equipment, and opened the doors wide. Sitting on the shelves were various cardboard boxes, labelled with the names of the dead STARS members. Barry carefully took the one marked "Joseph Frost" from the top shelf and set it down on the floor. The others gathered around as Amber opened the box, squatting down on the dusty floor to help her go through the contents.

The box turned out to contain very little. There were three photographs - one of Joseph with his family, one of him and Amber in their police uniforms, and one of Amber. She stared at her own happy, smiling face, looking back at her from the frame. There were one or two marks on the glass, and she peered at them, trying to make out what they were…

"He used to kiss that photo every day before he started work," Brad piped up. "Everybody used to laugh at him for it, but he never paid any attention. Every morning, come rain or shine, that photo got a kiss."

Amber smiled fondly at the thought of her beloved kissing her photograph every morning. That was just the kind of silly, sweet romantic gesture that Joseph would do. It certainly explained the faint lip-marks on the glass. She put it aside and went through the rest of the contents.

As well as the photos, there were a couple of desk toys, a souvenir paperweight from a tourist attraction in the next state, some odds and ends of stationery, a Zippo lighter, a box of handgun bullets, a stick of gum, and a diary that turned out to be mostly empty. There was also a small black jewellery box. Intrigued, she picked this last item up and stared at it, wondering what it could be.

The other STARS members suddenly looked worried.

"Amber," said Brad hesitantly. "Maybe you should put that back in the box..."

"Why?" said Amber, slightly taken aback. "What is it?"

"Something you probably wouldn't want to see," said Brad. "It'd only upset you if you knew what it was. Put it back and we'll deal with it for you. There's a good jewellery store on Hutchinson and Banks, we'll send you the money - "

But Amber had already opened the catch on the box. It sprang open to reveal a small gold ring set with two emeralds and a diamond. She let out a gasp of amazement on seeing it and took it out of the box, holding it up to the light for a better look.

"Whose is this?" she said. "It's beautiful."

Now the others looked deeply uncomfortable.

"It's - well, it's yours, Amber," said Brad, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, it's not," said Amber, shaking her head. "I've never owned anything like this."

"No," said Brad wretchedly. "I mean it was for you. Joseph was going to give it to you when he got back from the mission. It's an engagement ring."

Amber's jaw dropped.

"He… he wanted to…" she stammered, looking down at the sparkling new ring. "He actually wanted me to… to marry him…"

The ring slipped from her fingers and tinkled on the floor as Amber threw herself, sobbing bitterly, into Jill's arms.

"They killed him! He was going to marry me, and they killed him!" she wept. "Promise me you'll get those bastards, Jill! Promise me you'll find them and make them pay!"

"I promise," said Jill, holding Amber in a tight, almost protective hug, like a mother comforting a small child. "They'll pay for this, Amber. We'll get those scum no matter what it takes, or my name's not Jill Catherine Valentine…"

"I want to help you," said Amber suddenly. "Let me help with the investigation."

"What?" Jill exclaimed.

"Now wait a minute," began Barry, frowning. "Amber, knowing what really happened out there is bad enough, but being actively involved in the investigation? No way. You're in enough danger as it is. If we - "

"Hold on, Barry," interrupted Chris. "I think it's a good idea to have Amber operating separately from the STARS unit. The Chief was furious with us when we told him about what happened, and I'm not sure if he'll be happy about us launching a full-scale investigation into Umbrella until he's satisfied that this isn't some kind of hoax. We know these attacks on civilians in the outskirts of the city are connected with what's been happening in the forest. If Amber can monitor these cases for us and pass us information, maybe even do a little research of her own to help back up our evidence…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," said Jill, alarmed. "Hold it, Chris. Amber's our friend and I'm not prepared to get her involved in this mess. We've already put her in danger, and that's my fault. I feel bad enough about the situation without us making her do our dirty work. Leave her out of it."

"But she wants to help," Rebecca put in. "Chris is right, we could use some help from outside the unit, especially if Chief Irons isn't being terribly helpful right now. I know he'll change his mind once he's seen our report, but until then…"

"No, I agree with Jill," said Brad, shaking his head. "I don't want to put Amber in any more danger. It's not fair, and it's not what Joseph would have wanted. We have a responsibility to him to keep Amber safe now that he's gone."

"What do _you _know about what Joseph wanted?" Chris argued. "I bet he'd be pleased that she wants to help us get back at the people responsible for his death! Of course we'll keep her safe! But if she can help us too, then we should let her!"

"Well…" said Barry reluctantly. "I guess we could use some help. I'm still not happy about her getting involved in this case, though. Umbrella's dangerous and there could be a lot of risk involved. How do we know they won't try and take her out if they find out she's helping us?"

"They won't, because I won't let them," said Jill, her face flushing with anger. "They've already taken away the man she loved and I'm not going to let them hurt her again."

"So you agree with us, Jill?" said Chris.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," said Jill shortly. "But whatever happens, I don't want any more of my friends to get hurt."

"Now that I think about it," said Brad, looking thoughtful, "it might be a good idea to have Amber on the case after all. That way we can keep an eye on her, and with her helping us, we'll be able to work on the case faster and get this over and done with as soon as possible."

"Good point," agreed Barry. "Jill, what do you think?"

The other STARS members looked at Jill for a long time. She tried to stare them down, but in the end she relented.

"Fine," she said. "But we do everything we can to keep her out of harm's way, and keep her involvement to the bare minimum. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the others chorused.

"Well, kiddo, looks like you're on the case after all," said Barry, patting Amber on the back. "Can't say I'm entirely happy about it, but if you think you can help us, then you're more than welcome to do so."

"So what do you want me to do?" said Amber.

"Just… keep an eye on things," said Barry. "We'll be spending a lot of time on this report, which doesn't give us much chance to be out on the streets, so keep us informed. Let us know about anything unusual happening in the area, and any news relating to Umbrella. Even if you don't think it's important, tell us about it. Don't let it take over your regular work, though; you still have a job to do. And if you could send us copies of the reports on the attacks, so we can cross-reference them, that would be a big help to us."

"Okay," said Amber. "I will."

She felt a sudden change come over her, even as she spoke these words. No longer did she feel lost, bereft of hope and meaning without her beloved boyfriend. Her life had a purpose again, even if that purpose was to help the STARS survivors avenge her lover's death. It was a purpose that she intended to fulfil, no matter what the cost.

Amber picked up the engagement ring from the floor, looked at it for a moment, then kissed it solemnly and slid it onto the ring finger of her left hand. It would serve as a constant reminder of her new mission - a reminder of what she was doing, and why, and in whose memory.

_It__'__s okay, Joseph. I__'__m going after the people who killed you. I__'__ll make sure they go to jail for the rest of their lives for what they__'__ve done. No matter what it takes, I__'__m going to bring Umbrella down__…_


	4. House Of Flying Rumours

****

4: House Of Flying Rumours

****

Saturday 1st August, 1998

"They're on drugs."

Amber's head jerked up. She'd been reading the last report in a disturbingly large stack of papers - every one a report of an attack by "wild animals" or "cannibals". Of course, she knew better now. Those were no ordinary animals, and those "cannibals" were, without a doubt, the zombies that Jill and the others had been talking about.

She was in the west office today, which made her feel a little better about things. The silence of the east office made her uncomfortable, and she always got the feeling that no matter how hard she worked, everyone else in the room was working harder. Here, at least, there was conversation, laughter and a more relaxed pace. There'd been a lot of gossip lately, though, most of it about the recent incident in the mountains.

"Yeah, I bet they're on blue herbs. Caught someone smoking those things downtown last month. Damn near got high myself and I only caught a whiff of it. The pollen's hallucinogenic. Messes you up for a good long while."

"You sure it wasn't something else? Post-traumatic stress disorder? Or, you know, mass hallucinations and stuff? Those can happen, you know. I saw something on the Discovery Channel - "

"Nah. Drugs for sure. Haven't you noticed how much Redfield and Valentine smoke? They must be putting something else in those cigarettes of theirs. I know Redfield rolls his own. Dunno about Valentine, but they went out for a while. Guess she picked the habit up off of him."

The two officers talking were Elliot Edward and another officer, Neil Carlsen. Amber looked down again hurriedly, in case they'd noticed her staring, but kept listening to their conversation as she picked up the report again and pretended to read.

"What about Burton? No way he's on drugs. He practically ran last year's anti-drugs campaign all by himself. He has a wife and kids and everything."

"Best way to cover up the fact that you have a problem, doing the whole "wholesome family man" image thing. Nobody would suspect."

"Vickers is acting real weird. Noticed how jumpy he is? Paranoid, too. Tap him on the shoulder, he'll run away screaming, and he'll be looking over his shoulder at you the rest of the day."

"Amphetamines. Must be. Hyper as anything. There's other drugs that make you real paranoid too, though I can't remember which ones."

"The rookie?"

"Who knows? She has medical training, though. Maybe she has access to some, you know, medicinal stuff. Opiates or something."

"Morphine?"

"God only knows."

Amber listened to their conversation, speechless. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Even if she hadn't known them all well enough to know that they would never even think about touching illegal substances, the STARS' official zero-tolerance stance of drugs was well known throughout the precinct. They'd kicked out a fellow member not long ago after they'd caught him smoking weed on his lunch break - hence Joseph's accelerated promotion to Alpha Team. They'd also been the firmest supporters of the police anti-drugs campaign and had spent a great deal of their own time and money promoting it during their off-hours.

And even if they had accidentally ingested blue herb pollen, it didn't explain the fact that what they'd said was consistent with the established facts of the incident and the other attacks in the area. No, the STARS were definitely telling the truth. Unfortunately, everyone else was refusing to believe them, preferring instead to pitch in with far-fetched theories of their own.

"Maybe they got high and killed their team-mates," suggested someone else.

"Maybe they never died at all and they're still lost out there, and the STARS are making all this bullshit up," pitched in another.

"Why would they do that?"

"Search me. Addicts do some crazy shit. Maybe they like being the centre of attention."

Amber slammed the report down on the desk.

"Now that's enough!" she yelled, standing up and glaring at the others. "I know the STARS and they would never do something like that! They don't murder people, they don't make up _lies_, and they most definitely aren't on drugs!"

"Well what do you think happened out there, Lieutenant?" said Carlsen belligerently, hands on hips. "Surely you don't believe their crazy stories?"

"Look, I don't know what happened out there," Amber snarled, feeling only a little guilty about this outright lie, "and I'm not going to speculate either. However, the facts of the matter remain that the STARS are _not _drug addicts, murderers or compulsive attention seekers! Now stop talking crap and get on with your work, Carlsen. I don't want to hear another word from you this afternoon. Edward, you should know better than to listen to stupid rumours. You get on with your work too."

Edward slunk back to his desk, shamefacedly, and sat down. A scowling Carlsen did the same, stopping only to give Amber a filthy look before he got back to work. Everybody else suddenly appeared to be very busy, looking down at their paperwork and scribbling hastily, occasionally giving a loud and deliberate cough.

"As for the rest of you," Amber said to the room in general, raising her voice, "don't think you'll get away with spreading rumours because I wasn't talking to you, because you won't. No more malicious gossip from _any_ of you. You have much better things to do than gossip. Especially you, Fulham. You owe the Violent Crime Department three reports already! What the hell have you been _doing _for the past week?"

"Working hard," came the reply. "I need a goddamn secretary!"

"Secretaries are for people who already work too hard and need the extra pair of hands," she retorted. "Not compulsive slackers like you who spend all day on coffee breaks and doughnut runs. Now I want those reports filed by the end of the day or I'm telling the Chief you've been letting your work slide, big time."

The offending officer opened his mouth to protest.

"No, I'm not interested in lame excuses," said Amber, picking up the stack of reports from her desk and heading towards the door. "Just do it."

Just as she walked out of the room, Marvin Branagh popped his head out of the side office's door and looked around in bewilderment.

"What was that all about?" he said, perplexed.

"No idea," Carlsen said, with a shrug. "But I know she's always hanging out with Valentine. Maybe she's on drugs too…"

Amber, who had been taking deep breaths just outside the door in order to calm herself before she went upstairs, suppressed the urge to scream with frustration and stormed through the evidence room, slamming the door behind her so hard that a box of files fell off a shelf, scattering pages all over the floor.

"How dare they accuse us of taking drugs?" she hissed to herself, walking through the corridor. "How _dare _they?"

She stamped up the stairs, much harder than was necessary, and passed through the upstairs corridor.

The statue had always been there, and she'd barely given it a glance. This time, probably for the first time since her arrival, she turned to look at it.

The RPD building had once been the town's art museum, but some years ago the curator had been arrested on suspicion of fraud - not to mention some very shady dealings with a criminal gang responsible for several art thefts from notable museums and art galleries in the Balkans, the former East Germany, and three former Soviet republics. Most of the art had been confiscated and returned to its rightful owners when the Raccoon City Municipal Art Museum shut down, and the rest had been bought up at a knockdown price by the Chief, a well-known patron of the arts. Shortly afterwards, the RPD had moved from its old headquarters in Ashford Street into this larger and much more impressive building, and the rest was history.

A few remnants of the building's past remained, though, and this statue was one of them. Amber shuddered. It was a horrible-looking thing - a stone statue of some fierce-looking ancient war god, holding up his arm in the air. Enclosed within the statue's fist was a large and brilliant ruby. It was a beautiful object and looked entirely out of place in the hand of this unpleasant statue.

She shook herself. Now was not the time to be an art critic. She carried on through the door at the end of the corridor and into what everybody called the "STARS corridor". This corridor was sorely in need of redecoration; the walls had once been white but were now grey and stained, and the bare floorboards were badly scuffed. The anger was draining away now, and Amber felt much calmer as she knocked on the door of the STARS office.

"Hey guys, it's me, Amber. I brought you the reports," she called.

The door opened to reveal Rebecca, dressed in her STARS medic uniform. She still looked sad, but she seemed to brighten at the sight of Amber.

"Hey, Amber. Come on in," she said, holding the door open wide.

Amber stepped into the STARS office and was surprised to discover that the place was completely empty.

"Yeah, it's just me at the moment," said Rebecca, noticing Amber's look of surprise. "The others are talking to the Chief again in his office. They said I could stay here if I wanted. I don't like hearing people argue."

"How's it going?" said Amber.

"Not good," Rebecca admitted, sitting down in her chair. "This is the third time in a week they've been to see him. Every time they come back in a bad mood. Chris throws things a lot. Barry gets angry, in a quiet kind of way, and Brad looks all nervous and scared. Jill never says much afterwards, but I can tell she's mad too."

"How do _you _feel, Rebecca?" said Amber, pulling up a chair from the communications station and sitting beside Rebecca's desk.

"Sad," said Rebecca, looking down at her desk. "Just really, really sad. I tried to save Richard but Chris and Jill said he died anyway. I never got to say goodbye to the others. I miss them. And I saw what happened to Edward on the train, and - "

Amber frowned.

"What train?" she said. "The others never mentioned a train…"

"Oh," said Rebecca, and suddenly she looked guilty. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"Rebecca, if Edward died on this train, then it _does _matter," Amber persisted, as gently as possible. "Come on, honey. Whatever it is, you can tell me about it. You told the others what happened, didn't you?"

Rebecca nodded her head.

"I - I told them that Kevin and Edward were killed, and that I got separated from the others. I found Enrico and he told me to head to the mansion, and he and the others would meet me there, but - but they never did."

"Rebecca, I know that isn't the whole story," said Amber patiently. "I've had years of practice interviewing people and I can tell when they're lying, or holding something back. Whatever happened to you between the Bravos' helicopter going down and you arriving at the mansion, you _have _to tell us about it. This could be really important, Rebecca. This could help the STARS a whole lot, and it might make people believe them."

"It won't," said Rebecca sullenly. "It won't help. I've heard what they've been saying about us in the precinct. They're calling us liars, saying we're making it up or that we're on drugs, and they've been calling us names and stuff… they don't believe us, Amber. Whatever I say, it won't make any difference. They'll just accuse me of making up an even bigger story so I can look important. Nobody will believe me."

"I will," said Amber, taking the younger girl's hand in hers and holding it tightly. Rebecca managed a weak smile.

"You will? Really?"

"Of course I will," Amber assured her. "But you have to tell me everything, okay?"

"Okay," said Rebecca. "Hold on, let me get something from my bag."

She turned to the First Aid bag hanging on the wall by her desk. Rummaging in it for a moment, Rebecca carefully brought out an untidy sheaf of papers and other items and placed them on her desk.

"What are those?" said Amber in astonishment, leaning forward to look.

"My evidence," said Rebecca. "I haven't shown this to anybody yet. I was going to," she added fiercely, a deeper blush of colour flooding her pale cheeks. "But I wanted to make sure that the Chief believed the others before I went to him with this. I didn't want anyone to think I was doing this because I'm a rookie and I want to get some more attention on the side."

"All right," said Amber. "I guess that makes sense."

"When our helicopter went down, we scouted around the area for a little while, to see if we could find anything for our investigation. We found an overturned military truck with a lot of dead soldiers around it. Everything was covered in this weird kind of slime, and we found some documents in the vehicle. Apparently the truck had been carrying a convicted ex-Marine, Second Lieutenant Billy Coen, to a military base on the other side of the mountains. The file said that he'd killed twenty-three people and that he was being sentenced to death. There was no sign of the guy anywhere, and that made everybody jumpy."

"With a war criminal on the loose in the woods, in the dark, who wouldn't be?" said Amber.

"Exactly," said Rebecca. "Then we came across a set of train tracks, and there was a train sitting on them, with all the lights on. I went to investigate and then I saw - "

She broke off suddenly, and looked away.

"What? What did you see, Rebecca?" said Amber.

"A zombie," said Rebecca, trembling. "I didn't know what it was at first, I thought it was just a regular guy who'd been killed, but then he got up and tried to eat me. The train was full of dead people, Amber. They were sitting in their seats, they'd been eaten, and one guy still had his Walkman playing local radio, so it couldn't have happened too long ago. There were some more zombies too, and I made my way through the train looking for someone who might be alive, but everybody was dead… then I found him."

Rebecca was shaking uncontrollably now. Amber watched sympathetically, not knowing if the younger girl was nervous, shivering in terror at what she was remembering, or about to burst into tears.

"Found who?" she said.

"Billy Coen," Rebecca whispered.

"Oh my God," gasped Amber. "What happened? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, he didn't," said Rebecca shakily. "I thought he was going to, but then he said we ought to co-operate if we were going to survive. He said he'd help me but I was scared of him and I didn't want him anywhere near me, so I said I could manage on my own. But then we had to start working together because the train started moving somehow and I was all alone, and the train was full of zombies and - and leeches, weird leeches and this _monster_ which looked like a person but turned into some kind of zombie, only a different one, it was green and looked kind of like a plant and exploded with leeches and stuff when you killed it, and then Billy saved me from the monster and killed the giant scorpion and - "

"Slow down, Rebecca," Amber ordered. "You're not making any sense. Who started the train?"

"I don't know," said Rebecca, pausing for breath. "But we heard this weird singing outside, like a guy singing opera in a really high-pitched voice. I guess it must have been him. Anyway, Billy saved me from the leech zombie, and when I got trapped in another part of the train he rescued me again."

"What about Edward? You said he was on the train," said Amber. "What happened to him?"

"I found him in a corridor. He'd been bitten by zombie dogs and he was really hurt and - and then he died," said Rebecca, and she swallowed hard. "I liked Edward. He was so nice to me. They all were. I miss them..."

"I know you do, Rebecca," said Amber. "We all do. So what happened then? How did you get off the train?"

"It ran out of control," said Rebecca. "Billy and I tried to stop it with the emergency brakes, but it crashed into an underground train depot and it burst into flames. Billy and I were thrown clear, we got out of the place and into a sewer tunnel, and then we found a ladder and climbed up into - you're not going to believe this, Amber, but it led right up into the hall of this creepy old mansion."

"The Spencer mansion?" said Amber. "Is that how you got there?"

"No," said Rebecca, shaking her head. "This was a different place. It must have been abandoned for a long time, because everything was covered in dust. It was some sort of management training facility for Umbrella, and there was a big portrait at the top of the stairs of this horrible old man. His name was Dr Marcus and he founded the facility. We couldn't get out through the front doors of the mansion, they were locked, so Billy and I had to search the mansion for a way to open them. It was full of zombies and all sorts of other monsters, including more of those leech zombies I told you about. We managed to unlock the front doors, but the road had fallen into the gorge, so we had to go back inside and look for another way out…"

Amber listened, fascinated by the young rookie's tale. It seemed as though she'd had an even more difficult time than the other STARS members. Her travels with the dangerous convict had led her into the jaws of death again and again, through the mansion and the sinister chapel that served it, and then underground to Dr Marcus' terrifying labs - it turned out that the man had been the original creator of the T-Virus. Particularly interesting had been an episode where Rebecca had been grabbed by a giant mutant centipede, but after hearing the tales from the Spencer mansion, giant mutant animals seemed positively normal. It was the other aspect of this incident that intrigued her.

"Billy Coen _saved _you? But why?"

"I don't really know, but he killed the centipede and he made sure I was okay," said Rebecca. "And he saved me from the leech zombie, and the centipede, and the rabid monkey thing that tried to attack me, and the time when I fell through the hole in the floor in the underground tunnels. He could have left me to die, but he didn't."

"I don't understand," said Amber, shaking her head slowly. "If he was a fugitive, then why did he save you? Why would he do something like that?"

"Maybe because we were working together. Maybe he needed me," said Rebecca, going red again. "We worked well together and I saved his life once, too."

"Rebecca, he murdered twenty-three people. Why did you save his life?"

"Because he was my friend. He saved my life. And I don't think he was guilty. He told me what happened to him out in Africa, when he was fighting against some rebel forces in a civil war, and how he and his unit were ordered to kill a whole village of people even though they knew they had nothing to do with the rebels."

"And did he?" said Amber.

"He made it sound like he did, but… but he saved me, Amber," said Rebecca faintly. "I don't think a murderer would take pity on somebody like me. Not a rookie cop who threatened to turn him in. He saved my life so many times, and he always made sure I was all right if we'd been attacked by something."

"He must have cared about you a lot," said Amber, still puzzled by this. "So what happened in the end?"

Rebecca told her at length about how they'd successfully killed the reanimated Dr Marcus, who had been assassinated by his two protégés a decade earlier but whose body had been slowly mutated by T-Virus-infected leeches until he regenerated fully and became some kind of leech monster. With the help of Billy, they'd destroyed the inhuman Dr Marcus for good and escaped into the forest.

"… and then, in the end, I let him go," said Rebecca meekly. "Amber, I couldn't kill him or turn him in, not after all we'd been through together. I know my head said that he'd been convicted and everything, but my heart told me he was a good guy. I don't believe he murdered anybody. I don't believe he was capable of something like that. He was so kind, Amber. He helped me so much, and he looked after me, and…"

Amber was faintly appalled that a rookie cop could have let a dangerous escaped convict go. Yet, as Rebecca timidly continued the explanation of how she got to the Spencer mansion, it stole over Amber that the STARS were being condemned throughout the RPD as liars, drug addicts, possibly even deranged killers, even though there was no way in hell that they could possibly have done anything wrong. Was it possible that the man had been wrongly convicted, especially when the ending of his tale of his adventures in Africa had been so ambiguous?

It certainly sounded more convincing than the alternative - that a vicious, cold-blooded psychopath would rescue a young and helpless female rookie cop on several occasions, knowing full well that she was going to turn him in. Rebecca was a sweet and trusting girl, but she wasn't stupid or gullible, and she doubted that a known criminal could have lied convincingly enough to persuade Rebecca that he was misunderstood and should be let go.

"I never saw him again," finished Rebecca. "I don't know where he is right now, but when I got back, I told the authorities he was dead and I showed them the dog-tag he gave me. They wanted to know where the body was but I said he'd been eaten by wild animals and that I'd only found a patch of blood and his dog-tag."

"Rebecca," said Amber gravely. "If he's found and captured, you could go to jail for withholding information from the authorities. Or, worse, if he really is a murderer and you let him go, he could kill somebody again. What you did could have terrible consequences. You do know that, don't you?"

Rebecca nodded silently, her cheeks burning.

"I know, Amber," she whispered. "But Billy wasn't a murderer. I really, truly, honestly don't believe he was. And I know you must think he talked me into letting him go, but that's not true. He never asked me to do anything like that. I think he was expecting me to turn him in all along - he looked so surprised when I let him go. I don't care what anybody says, Amber, Billy can't have killed those people. It wouldn't make any sense. I only knew him for a little while, I know, but the guy who helped me through that mansion couldn't have murdered anybody. Not him. Not Billy."

Something in the girl's voice struck Amber.

"Rebecca," said Amber slowly, "did you like this guy?"

"Well, yes," said Rebecca, shyly. "He was nice. And he was always there for me when I needed him. I guess when it came right down to it, he was my friend."

"No, what I meant was, did you _like_ him?"

Rebecca blushed even more furiously.

"I - "

The door burst open. Rebecca jumped, then grabbed the evidence that she'd collected from the other mansion and shoved it hastily into her desk drawer as the STARS walked in, their faces red with rage. Amber and Rebecca stood up, intending to ask what had happened, but saw the looks on their friends' faces and wisely decided to keep quiet.

"Son of a bitch!" Chris was yelling. "That son of a bitch! That f- "

Jill's hand slapped over Chris' mouth, cutting the word short.

"Watch your language, Christopher Redfield!" she snapped. "Don't you use words like that in front of Rebecca! You'll set her a bad example!"

"Don't you tell me what to do! What are you, my mother?" Chris yelled back, wrenching her hand away from his face.

"You rude and ignorant - " Jill began, prodding him in the chest.

"Hey! Cut it out!" Barry bellowed. "This is not the time for arguments!"

"No, you're wrong! It's the _perfect _time for arguments!" yelled Brad. "The Chief doesn't believe us! Nobody does! All over the precinct, they're talking about us! They think we're lying, or worse! I even heard someone say we were crack addicts and we murdered our team-mates because they found out about our secret drug-dealing business!"

"Yeah, and they wouldn't have found out about the outcome of the mission if _you _hadn't opened your big mouth!" Chris said angrily. "What did you have to go and tell everyone over the radio for? Now everyone thinks we're on hard drugs because of your mindless babbling, you fucking idiot!"

"Don't you swear at me, you arrogant jerk!" yelled Brad. "Just because you're sexually frustrated - "

"I am _not_ sexually frustrated!" Chris snarled.

"Yeah, right! You're just on an ego trip! You think you're better than everyone else because you're Chris Redfield!" Brad yelled. "No wonder Jill left y - "

Chris swung back his arm and brought it around again; there was a horrible sound as his fist connected with Brad's jaw. Brad went flying backwards across the room and collided heavily with Wesker's desk. Jill gasped and rushed to help the dazed Brad as Barry fought to restrain Chris.

Amber felt a sudden pressure on her arm and looked down. A white-faced Rebecca was clinging, terrified, to her arm.

"I'll kill him!" bawled Chris, struggling to break free of Barry's firm grasp. "Let me go! I'm going to kill that cowardly, spineless little bitch! Let me _go_!"

"No, Chris," said Barry through gritted teeth, still fighting to keep the enraged Chris in check. "Don't you dare! You've done enough damage today! Don't be an idiot and beat up one of our few remaining friends in some stupid childish squabble! That's the last thing we need! Just calm down!"

"Brad, are you all right?" said Jill anxiously.

"No, I'm not, your ex-boyfriend's trying to kill me over a bruise to his big ego!" said Brad indignantly.

"Chris, _no_!"

Chris suddenly broke free and rushed towards Brad with an incoherent cry of rage. Brad panicked and pulled out his gun, aiming it at Chris -

"No! _Stop it!_"

The scream had come from Rebecca's corner of the room. Barry and Jill jumped, and Brad lowered his gun in amazement. Even Chris stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the petite rookie, who was sobbing hysterically.

"Stop it!" she wailed. "Please stop it! _Please_…"

"There, there, Rebecca," said Amber gently, putting her arms around the younger girl. "It's all right, honey. It's all right."

"That's it," said Brad, getting to his feet and heading for the door. "I've had enough! I quit!"

"What? Brad, you can't!" gasped Jill, grabbing him by the arm. "Not now! We need you!"

"No way! I'm not sticking around to be everybody's scapegoat!" yelled Brad, pulling away his arm. "Bad enough I'm being talked about behind my back by every idiot who works here, but being beaten up by one of my own team-mates just because he's pissed-off with the Chief? Forget it! I'm leaving!"

"Brad, they'll only talk about us even more if you leave!" Jill cried, grabbing him again. "They'll say you resigned in disgrace because the Chief found out you were helping Barry to deal crack to the downtown kids, or that you've been making me and Rebecca work in a strip club to help fund your last spell in rehab! Or something! You know what people here are like! They'll make up even more stupid rumours to explain your sudden disappearance!"

"Then at least I won't be around to listen to them!" Brad shouted back, dragging Jill after him as he tried to reach the door.

"But the rest of us will!" said Jill, clinging to Brad's arm for grim death. "Come on, Brad, now is _not _the time to leave over a dumb argument! Don't abandon us when we need you the most! Do you really want Umbrella to reduce us to this and get away with it? If you leave, you're helping them win! Is that what you want?"

Brad stopped, and turned around to face the others. Greeted with Jill's pleading look, Rebecca's soft whimpering and the alarm in Barry and Amber's faces, he gave in.

"You're right," he said hopelessly. "I can't go. Not now. But I'm warning you, if Chris ever lays a finger on me again, then I'm leaving for good! I don't care if people do make up rumours about it, I'm not going to be pushed around any more!"

"You won't be," said Jill, with a dark look at Chris. "Because Chris is going to say sorry. _Aren't you_, Chris?"

Chris looked at Brad. There was a moment of internal struggle as he wrestled with pride, his better nature, and the threat of unspecified but almost certainly painful retribution from Jill if he refused to capitulate. Humility and the fear of incurring his ex-girlfriend's wrath soon won through.

"Sorry, Brad," he said, grudgingly offering a hand in apology.

"Sorry, Chris," said Brad, shaking Chris' hand. "I don't really think you're an arrogant jerk."

"And I don't really think you're a cowardly, spineless little bitch."

"You don't?"

"Well, you are kind of a scaredy-cat, but if Jill thinks I'm not sorry she'll probably hospitalise me," said Chris, dropping his voice so that the others wouldn't hear, and Brad grinned.

"Yeah. I know. They didn't call me Chickenheart at the academy for nothing," he admitted. "But that doesn't stop us being friends, right?"

"Nah," said Chris, shaking his head. "I can put up with you getting scared every now and then if you can put up with me being a jerk sometimes. Sorry about your face. Hope you aren't hurt too bad."

"Just bruised, I think," said Brad, nursing his swollen jaw. "It'll heal."

"I have something for that," said Rebecca, who'd stopped crying and was now rummaging in her First Aid bag again. She brought out a tiny bottle, went over to Brad and tipped two even tinier white pills into the palm of his hand.

"What is it?" said Brad, staring down at his palm.

"Arnica. It's a homeopathic remedy," Rebecca told him. "It'll help the bruising. I know some people don't believe in homeopathy but my mother swears by it, and she's a doctor too. Say what you like, but it's always worked for me. It certainly won't do you any harm."

"Thanks, Rebecca," said Brad, tipping the two miniscule white pills into his mouth.

"Don't swallow them, let them dissolve first," advised Rebecca. "And don't eat or drink anything for at least fifteen minutes, or it won't work properly."

"Okay."

"I take it the meeting didn't go well," Amber said in an undertone.

"That's the understatement of the year," said Jill wearily. "He won't listen to us. I don't know if it's because he doesn't believe us or not, but he's refusing even in principle to conduct an investigation. You'd think he'd at least want to get to the bottom of what happened, wouldn't you? I don't know, Amber… something weird's going on around here. Very weird. I think the Chief's hiding something."

"What could he be hiding?" said Amber.

"I don't know, but we're going to find out," said Jill. "This investigation _has _to be conducted. If we don't, Umbrella could do something even worse. I can't let that happen."

"Oh," said Amber, suddenly remembering the purpose of her visit. "Jill, I brought you guys the reports on the attacks. They're on Rebecca's desk."

"Thanks, Amber," said Jill. "That's really great. I'll get to work on those right away. Oh, can you take this downstairs for me? It's for Ballistics - they wanted to know why my Beretta was missing several bullets when I checked it in for maintenance yesterday. Tell them that they're still buried in your mirror frame and offer to have them come over and check, will you? Maybe then they'll get off my ass about it. I know it's important to them, but it's not half as important to me as this investigation. If you could take care of it for me, that would be a big help."

"Sure," said Amber, taking the report. "I'll run it downstairs for you now."

"Sorry to keep you waiting here so long," said Jill. "I know everybody's busy downstairs."

"Don't worry about it. Rebecca looked like she needed the company, and I had nothing better to do anyway," said Amber. "I'll go and sort this out."

"Thanks."

Amber hurried out of the STARS office and along the corridor. She was halfway downstairs when she bumped into Kevin Ryman.

"There you are!" he cried. "Jeez, Amber, where've you been? We've been looking all over for you! Come on, hurry, there's a fight in progress on Limetree and Havant!"

"What?" said Amber, all thoughts of Jill's ballistics report forgotten. "Where's everybody else?"

"Downstairs watching the freak show, some woman's come in covered in blood and screaming about her husband being killed by a bunch of downtown bums. Marvin and Rita are handling her and everybody else in the west office has been sent out to look for the perpetrators. They've cleaned out half of the east office too, and Alan's whining about it like a little bitch because there's nobody to help his lazy ass out with the paperwork."

"What about Jodie?" said Amber, hastening her progress downstairs and quickening her pace to keep up with Kevin.

"Interviewing a bunch of new candidates for the force," called Kevin, who was halfway through the door of the evidence room. "We can't drag her out too!"

"So we're hiring again?" said Amber, entering the evidence room.

"Apparently so," said Kevin, who was already on his way out.

"We could use the help," said Amber, running through the empty west office and grabbing a bulletproof vest from one of the lockers.

"Damn right we need the help. More attacks every day," said Kevin, who already had his own vest on. He turned to help Amber with hers. "Is that report in your hand important?"

"It's Officer Valentine's ballistics report," Amber replied, as Kevin took it roughly from her hand and looked through it. "I promised her I'd take care of it for her."

"Not important right now," Kevin said, shoving it back into her hands.

"But I promised Jill - "

"Never mind Jill, we need to hurry! Come on, or those kids will have beaten each other to death before we get there!"

"Kids?" repeated Amber, tucking the report as carefully into her back pocket as she could while trying to keep up with Kevin. She noticed some spots of blood on the floor of the foyer as she left the room, but nobody was in sight except the secretaries - the show was clearly over. "What kids? What's going on?"

"Bunch of uptown brats mixing it up with one of the downtown skater gangs," Kevin said, throwing the main doors open and running out into the yard. "Stupid kids! Can't they see we have enough on our plate already? It's complete anarchy out there today! We've been running around all afternoon like our asses are on fire!"

"Shouldn't we be taking a patrol car?" said Amber as they hurried through the precinct gates. "Limetree and Havant's quite a walk - it'll all be over before we can get there!"

"I parked mine right by the bookstore, the parking lot's full again," panted Kevin, pointing to a nearby police car. "Quick, get in! I'm driving!"

"Okay…"

"Don't you "okay" me, my driving's fine! At least I'll get us there fast!"

"A hundred and fifty miles an hour, through three sets of red lights and then right into a tree?"

"Don't be stupid! There aren't any trees downtown!"

"Well _that's_ comforting…"

"Come on!"

xxxxxxxxxx

After a truly terrifying ride through the streets, at what Kevin claimed was fifty miles per hour but seemed more like a hundred and fifty to the shellshocked Amber, the patrol car screeched to a halt in the middle of Limetree and Havant.

"Ah, _shit. _Looks like we got here too late._"_

There were bodies lying all over the street, every single one dressed in shabby street clothes. It appeared as though the uptown kids had won this fight. She counted fifteen people, five of them girls, all of the participants in their mid-to-late teens and all of them supine.

"Oh, those poor kids," said Amber, scrambling out of the car and hurrying to the nearest prone figure. "Are you all right, miss? What happened?"

The victim, a bruised-looking girl with dyed blonde hair, fake gold jewellery and scarlet fingernails, groaned and slumped back wordlessly onto the sidewalk.

"What a mess," commented Kevin, nudging an unconscious dark-haired boy. His spectacles were broken and there was a nasty bruise already colouring his right eye. Another, much shorter boy with blond hair was lying next to him, blood seeping from a cut on his forehead. His baseball cap had tumbled from his head and lay a few inches away from where he'd fallen.

"Hey, honey. Can you move?" said Amber, kneeling next to a frizzy-haired girl in shorts and a Billabong t-shirt. Her face and arms were badly bruised, but she was one of the few kids still conscious after the fight.

"Bastards," moaned the girl, who turned out to have a strong Australian accent. "Bastards, every bloody one of them. Look what they did to my mates…"

"Who did this to you?" said Amber, shocked at the extent of the girl's injuries.

"Doesn't matter," said Kevin, as he helped a groaning kid with spiky dyed-red hair and punk-rock clothes to his feet. "Whoever they were, they're long gone…"

"No they're not," said the girl, pointing to the mouth of a nearby alley. "They're hiding over there. _Come on, you scum!_" she yelled suddenly, and Amber almost dropped her in surprise. "_You want some more? Come and get it, you mazzas!"_

"Now that's enough of that, young lady. You've been in enough trouble today already," Amber scolded her. "Kevin, go check out that alley, will you?"

"I'm on it," Kevin grunted, dropping a Latina girl with dreadlocks back down onto the sidewalk and striding over to the alley. Two blond-haired boys, one with a black eye and a cut lip, immediately rushed out and ran down the street as Kevin emerged from the mouth of the alley with a third boy in tow. This one was also blond-haired, but taller and more muscular than the others, and he was wearing a Raccoon City High football shirt over his jeans.

Amber groaned at the sight of him. Typical uptown jock, always picking fights with the downtown kids to prove how tough he was. So tough, he and his friends would pick on a gang of scrawny downtown skater kids, a third of whom were girls…

"Let me go! Hey, buddy, let go of me already, will you? You can't just haul me around like this! I pay your wages!" the boy yelled as Kevin dragged him across the street by his arm and hauled him in front of Amber.

"Good afternoon, sir, I'm Lieutenant Bernstein of the Raccoon Police Department. This is my colleague, Officer Ryman. We've been called in to investigate an incident in this area. One of the residents reported a fight about ten minutes ago and we're trying to find out what happened. Could you tell us your name, please?"

"Phil Barrett," the boy replied sulkily. Kevin immediately wrote this down in his notebook.

"And can you tell us what happened here, Phil?" said Amber, for the look of the thing. She already knew what had happened, of course - any half-assed idiot could figure it out for themselves - but it would be interesting to see what the boy had to say for himself.

"Well," said the boy, composing himself. "We were on our way home from school when this lousy punk jumped us and told us to give him money. I told him no and then he called his friends over. They all started threatening us and pushing us around, so Jamie pushed him away, and then the rest of them started attacking us. We managed to fight them all off eventually, but then we heard sirens and we thought we'd get in trouble, so we hid in the alleyway… and then, well, you guys got us. Look, we're really sorry, we didn't mean to cause any problems. If you ask me, it's these downtown rats. They ought to be locked up."

"All right, Phil," said Amber, smiling sweetly to disguise her impatience with the boy. "We'll see what we can do about this situation. Now go straight home and stay well away from the downtown kids in future."

The boy grinned.

"Thanks, Officer… uh…"

"Bernstein," Amber reminded him.

"Yeah, thanks, Officer Bernstein. Can I go now?"

"Sure. Go right ahead."

"Rotten little punk_,_" growled Amber, as the boy disappeared into the distance. "You know, Kevin, I am so sick of these uptown kids thinking that they can get away with murder just because Mommy and Daddy have lots and lots of money and can buy them out of trouble! I swear, I'm going to call his parents and haul him and his friends downtown, see what Mommy and Daddy have to say about their little darlings facing assault charges, maybe a couple of counts of ABH."

"Nobody cares much about a bunch of kids picking fights, Amber," said Kevin. "Not right now, anyway. Everybody's too wound up about these attacks."

"But they should," said Amber angrily. "It's not fair! Look at these poor kids - what did they do to deserve this? This only happened to them because of the stupid class war we've got going on in the city! Where's it going to end?"

Kevin shook his head.

"You take this way too seriously, Amb. Come on, don't you remember all the fights we used to get into with the rich kids when we were young?"

"Yeah, of course I do," said Amber. "But that was different. It was practically a game back then. This is no game, this is damn near murder. Look at these kids! Did we ever leave the uptown kids like this?"

"No," said Kevin, pausing to survey the scene. "No, we never did anything like this."

"Exactly," said Amber. "And now I'm going to find out what really happened. Hey, kid! Yeah, you!"

By now nearly all of the downtown kids had come round, picked themselves up off the street and wandered home. Only one remained now: a blond-haired boy, about sixteen, dressed in torn jeans and a faded heavy metal t-shirt. A lumberjack shirt was tied loosely around his waist, and there was a broken skateboard lying next to him. Blood was gushing from his nose. Although awake, he'd been badly beaten - _so much for the self-defence_ _claim_, thought Amber crossly - and he was struggling to get up.

"Yeah?" he said, pressing his hands to his nose.

"I'm Lieutenant Bernstein and this is Officer Ryman," said Amber, pointing to herself and Kevin. "We're from the police department. Could you come with us, please?"

"Oh, man," the boy groaned. "I dint do nothin'! I been arrested twice already an' I dint do nothin' then either! Why you people always gotta pick on me? It be those uptown kids from my school, they got it in for me 'cause I ain't rich like them! Why can you no just leave me alone for once?"

"Calm down, kid," said Kevin, helping the boy to his feet. "We just want to get to the bottom of this so we can log the incident, maybe get a few statements if necessary. We're pretty sure we know what happened here, but we'd like to be sure."

"Hey, I gotta be home in an hour, my aunt gonna kill me if I come home late," the boy protested, wiping the blood from his face.

"It's okay, we'll call your aunt," Kevin reassured him.

"No!" the boy exclaimed. "Dunt call my aunt!"

"Well, okay then," said Kevin, slightly nonplussed by this. "Just come with us. This probably won't take an hour anyway."

xxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes had passed, and now Amber found herself sitting on one of the cold, hard chairs in the RPD's interrogation room. Its décor was deliberately plain, to keep suspects from being distracted by their surroundings, and the room contained very little furniture. There was a bookcase that was mostly empty, a plain metal table and a couple of chairs and, of course, the two-way mirror that stood between this room and the room next door.

Kevin was standing in the corner, slouching against the wall and keeping a casual eye on proceedings. The boy was sitting in the chair on the other side of the table, fiddling with a torn fingernail to avoid looking Amber straight in the eye.

"All right," said Amber, to break the silence. "Let's start with your name."

The boy looked up, bright blue eyes narrowing behind his long fringe of blond hair.

"You oughta know," he muttered. "I been dragged in here plenty of times. Maybe you people oughta print it on the forms ready so you dunt need to fill it in every time I get busted for doin' nothin'."

Amber sighed. It had been a long day and it was getting even longer. She wasn't in the mood for guessing games.

"Kid, I don't know who you are or why you've been dragged here before," she said, gathering together the last shreds of her patience. "I pride myself on knowing all the downtown kids, especially the skaters, but I've never seen you before. Are you new in town?"

The boy nodded.

"Yeah. I move here in June. Been livin' in Tijuana for the last ten years with my aunt. I live on West an' 16th, above the record store."

"Oh, Sid Ziegler's place," said Amber, nodding.

"You know it?" said the boy curiously.

"Yeah, my little brother works there," said Amber. "Don't know if you know him. His name's Jason, he's a couple of years older than you."

"I think I see him around once," said the boy, after a moment. "Dint say nothin' to him though. My English ain't so good. Dunt like strikin' up conversation with new people if I dunt have to."

"Well, in this case, you have to," said Amber, not unkindly. "So, your name is…?"

"Jack Carpenter," the boy replied.

"So I take it you're with the Street Rats," said Amber, picking up one of the files that she'd grabbed _en route_ to the interrogation room.

"How you know?" said the boy suspiciously.

"I told you, I know all the downtown kids," said Amber, flicking open the file marked _Street Rats, The_. "I've lived in downtown my whole life and I used to hang round with the skaters when I was a kid. Most of my friends were in the PriMadonnas. I couldn't skate, though."

She took out a piece of paper. Listed on it were the names of all known Street Rat members, past and present. Her eyes ran smoothly down the list of names:

__

Antonio Alvarez

Marco Alvarez

Madeleine "Maddy" Baker

Joaquìn Carpenter y Jemez

Alena Charlton

Raphael Delmonico

Ritchie Hale

Columbine LeFleur

Eduardo Lopez

Almond Nicholls

Romeo Pagliuca (expelled)

Valerio Schiaparelli

Roland Schultz

Mitchell "Mitch" Taylor

Tiffany Ward

Bruce Wayne-Robinson (aka "Batman")

"Whatever happened to Romeo, anyway?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "It says here that he was expelled."

"Yeah," said the kid, suddenly looking angry. "Serve him right too, the _pinche pendejo_. He try to set me up for some petty crime of his an' _los verdes_ come after me for it. We throw him out for it 'cause we dint want that dirty no-good traitor around no more."

"Your name's not on here, Jack. The only name listed that matches even partially is Joaquìn Carpenter y Jemez. Is that you?"

"Yeah. Everybody call me Jack for short."

Amber breathed out slowly. This certainly cleared up the confusion. She replaced the piece of paper and took out another; this one was the boy's official police record. True to what he'd told her, he'd been arrested twice for minor offences and released both times without charge. He had also been brought in on a few other occasions, along with several of his skater friends, to be cautioned for trivial offences. She'd expected to see this; it was one of the occupational hazards of being with a gang of downtown skaters. The Chief hated the skaters and was always having them hauled up for this, that and the other - and many other officers saw them as easy targets to prop up their arrest statistics for the year.

Not her or Kevin, though. They'd both grown up in downtown and knew only too well what life was like there. While skaters couldn't expect automatic sympathy, they at least got a fair hearing, which was more than most other people were prepared to give them. She'd heard somewhere that skaters being brought in after an incident routinely begged to be allowed to talk to Officer Ryman and Officer Bernstein. This both pleased and saddened her - though it was touching to see that she and Kevin were held in such high esteem, even by the rougher downtown kids, it seemed unfair that the kids couldn't expect fair treatment from anyone but her or Kevin.

She checked through the boy's details again. There was a mugshot of him, looking defiant but a little scared too as he looked straight ahead at the camera.

"Name, Joaquìn Alejandro Carpenter y Jemez… date of birth, August 5th 1982... place of birth, San Francisco, CA. Address, vital stats, yada yada… yep, everything seems to be in order," she said, scribbling down the details on a form. "Okay, Jack. So can you tell me what happened this afternoon?"

Jack embarked on a full and lively description of the afternoon's events. It differed quite considerably from that of the uptown boy that she'd spoken to earlier. It transpired that, far from having pestered Phil Barrett and his two uptown friends for money, Jack had been deliberately tripped up by one of the boys while skating and then attacked - quite viciously, by the sound of it. Jack's friends had come to his rescue, only to be beaten up themselves by the three boys. Amber and Kevin had turned up just in time to miss everything that had happened.

"Jack, if that's true, then you're legally entitled to press charges against these boys," said Amber, concerned.

"No way," said Jack, looking alarmed. "Those guys be in my class at school, they gonna come after me 'gain if I do somethin' like that. An' me an' my aunt no can afford to sue 'em anyway. Dunt even wanna try. Just let it go."

"Are you sure, Jack? We can provide you with legal advice if - " Amber began, but Kevin shook his head.

"No, don't," he mouthed. "No point."

"You're sure?" said Amber, and Jack nodded.

"Yeah. Dunt want no more trouble. My aunt gonna yell at me for gettin' in another fight as it is," he said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

"All right, then. If you want to get yourself cleaned up, there are washrooms on this floor. Officer Ryman will show you where they are. Are you going to be okay getting home, Jack? You've been pretty badly beaten up. I have a friend here who has medical training, if you'd like her to check you over."

"Nah, nothin' broken. Just bruised," said Jack. "Can I go now?"

"Of course," said Amber. "Kevin, can you escort Mr Carpenter out?"

"Nah, dunt bother, I know the way," said Jack, getting up and heading for the door. Kevin watched him leave as Amber tidied away the files, and said:

"Man, what a day. First that scene with the woman whose husband got attacked, and then a fight just to make my day complete. I can't wait till the end of my shift. I'm exhausted. Want to come down to J's with me after work, Amb?"

"No, I can't," said Amber, cringing with embarrassment at the mere mention of the place. "I'm working double overtime today. Besides, I don't want to see that bitch of a waitress again for a good long time."

"What's wrong with her? I like Cindy," said Kevin, who looked slightly hurt. "She's a nice girl. Very sweet, very friendly."

"Yeah, she's friendly all right," said Amber, smirking. "That's because you have testicles. That means she'll be as friendly as you want her to be."

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me you're jealous, Amber?"

"Hardly," Amber said mildly, picking up the last of the files. "If you think that a bunch of embarrassing diseases are a fair exchange for a good time with Cindy Lennox, then that's your problem. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Kevin laughed.

"I know perfectly well that you hate her, Amber. The feeling's mutual, from what Will tells me. But as far as I'm concerned, she can lay _my _table any time."

"Men," said Amber, rolling her eyes, and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Kevin called after her.

"I need to file these reports," Amber called back. "I'll catch you later."

But as she left the corridor and passed the east office, she became aware of a growing background noise, a murmur which became a wall of sound as she opened the door to the foyer.

There were police officers everywhere, loudly discussing the incident involving the woman whose husband had been killed earlier:

"Man, what a mess. Did you see him? I'm not gonna be able to sleep for weeks."

"I nearly puked when I saw his head had come off. I haven't seen anything like it in all the years I've worked here. I know the panhandlers downtown can get nasty if you don't give 'em any change, but this… I can't believe it. In broad daylight, too. What the hell's happening to this town?"

"No sign of the perpetrators. Nothing at all, but Marvin says they've still got another unit out there looking. They'll probably be out all night. Downtown's full of drunk, smelly bums and they all look the same. They might never find out which ones did it."

Raised above these conversations was another voice, its tone loud and pugnacious. It belonged to an attractive middle-aged Hispanic woman with cropped black hair who had probably been quite stunning in her youth. Dressed in a short black skirt, high heels and a low-cut black top, she was leaning over the reception desk and complaining loudly to Bernice.

"What you doing? Why you arrest my nephew?" she demanded to know, her gold hoop earrings jangling as she slammed her hand down on the counter. "He do nothing! Someone beat him up! Why you arrest him for that?"

She jabbed her finger in the direction of Jack, who was looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Auntie, it be nothin'," he mumbled. "It dunt even hurt much. C'mon, we just go home, 'kay?"

"No, is _not _okay, Jack! Nobody beat up my family! Someone beat up my family, then they beat me! I like to see them beat me! I beat them an' _they _family all the way to next week!"

"Ma'am, please, calm down," said Bernice. "Your nephew wasn't arrested. He was brought in by two officers who found him at the scene so that they could take a statement from him. That's all. He's not in trouble and he's free to go. I suggest you take him home so he can rest. He looks like he had quite a rough time."

"Fine. _Gracias_," said the woman curtly, turning on her heel and taking Jack with her. "Come on Jack, we go home."

"Okay, Auntie," said Jack, obediently following her out of the building.

The doors had barely banged shut behind Jack and his aunt when they slammed wide open again; an officer had burst in, panting for breath.

"Downtown's going crazy today! You know that work experience kid? He and his girlfriend just got attacked by dogs!" he gasped.

Amber's heart skipped a beat.

"What?" she cried. "You mean Kenny? Oh my God, is he hurt?"

"No, he's fine, just scared, and the dogs are dead now, but - "

The cop never even got to finish his sentence as Amber raced across the foyer to the door of the west office, as fast as her legs could take her.

Officers Edward and Carlsen were standing by the lockers, taking off their bulletproof vests and talking in hushed voices.

"All right then, so what's the lieutenant on?"

"Jeez, I don't know. She's been real moody lately. You even say the word STARS and she'll bite your head off. Other than that, though, she seems pretty normal."

"Maybe she's just upset about her boyfriend."

"No way, she has to be on _something_ if she believes those crazy stories Redfield and Valentine have been telling."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Amber shot past them, almost bowling the two men over as she rushed through the office. A few loose papers flew from a desk in the wake of her passage, but she'd already run out through the other door by the time they settled to the ground. Edward and Carlsen looked at each other.

"Speed," said Edward.

"Speed," Carlsen agreed.

Skidding on the wet floor and ignoring the shouts from Gus, who was mopping the floor outside the darkroom, Amber ran down the corridor and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She tripped over the top step and landed flat on her face, but picked herself straight up again and sprinted along the hall.

She ran through the STARS corridor and wrenched the office door open without even bothering to knock. Chris and the others looked up sharply from their work.

"Amber, are you okay? What's wrong?" said Jill, noticing how out of breath her friend was.

"Jill, Chris, guys, you have to come quick! There's been another attack downtown, dogs this time, and they went after Kenny!" Amber gasped, clutching at the edge of the door for support.

Every single one of the STARS members froze.

"Kenny? You mean _our_ Kenny?" said Jill, horrified.

"Holy shit!" Chris yelled, out of his seat in an instant. "We have to get there right away!"

"Is he hurt?" said Rebecca anxiously, reaching for her First Aid bag.

"No, he's not hurt, but it sounds a lot like those zombie dogs you guys told me about!" said Amber. "I only caught a sentence or two and I don't really know what happened - one of the part-timers just burst in and said there'd been an attack…"

"Come on!" ordered Barry, grabbing his gun from the desk. "We need to hurry, those dogs might still be there! We can't let them run around the city or someone else will be attacked! And they might not be so lucky!"

"He said the dogs were dead now - " Amber began.

"Then we can use this as evidence! Rebecca, get the camera!" Brad yelled.

Amber watched breathlessly as the STARS ran past her, yelling in their hurry to get out of the precinct and find the scene of the attack. What was wrong with the city today? Kevin was right, it was a madhouse out there today, and that bothered her. All these attacks had to mean one thing. The T-Virus was in the city, and it was spreading… the question was, what could they do to stop it?


	5. A Bullet For My Valentine

**5: A Bullet For My Valentine**

**Saturday 8th August, 1998**

In one of the streets surrounding the RPD building was a small Parisian-style pavement café. Its name was _Le Jardin Des Ratons,_ and it had been Amber's favourite café ever since she could remember.

She and Jill were sitting at a little table overlooking the street, eating a very pleasant meal beneath the cool shade of the table's large umbrella and idly watching the waiters glide between the tables, balancing light meals and long, cold drinks on their gleaming silver trays.

It was lunchtime, but even now they both had notebooks open on the table and pens resting beside their plates. Jill referred to this arrangement as a "working lunch", but Amber had privately decided that it was nothing more than a pain in the ass.

"So Brad left after all, huh?" said Amber, drawing her initials in the condensation that beaded her glass of iced tea. "That's too bad. I really thought he was going to stay."

"I shouldn't be surprised, really," said Jill, taking a bite of her _croque-monsieur_ before returning once again to her notebook. "It was all I could do to make him stay another week. Chris is taking it hard; he thinks it's all his fault because he punched Brad."

"He really needs to control his temper," said Amber sternly, and sipped her drink. "I know he's frustrated because the Chief's being a jerk, but there's really no excuse for his behaviour. And I always thought he had such good self-control."

"That was before zombies tried to eat us all alive," said Jill, temporarily dropping her voice so that nobody sitting at the neighbouring tables would hear.

"True," said Amber. "I guess that's enough to mess anybody up. Speaking of which, is Kenny okay? I haven't seen him around for a few days…"

"He's fine, thank goodness," said Jill. "A little shaken after the incident with the dogs, but still around, working hard as usual. He and his girlfriend had a very lucky escape, though."

"Yeah. Back on the subject of Brad, have you spoken to him since he left?"

"I talked to him last night. To be honest, he's struggling. All the rumours floating around are really getting to him; he's pretty upset about what people have been saying about us. I guess he just couldn't cope any more. Being another man down is awkward, but I'd rather that than see Brad have a complete nervous breakdown."

"Think he'll ever rejoin STARS?"

"Maybe, but I'm not optimistic. If he does come back, it won't be in the immediate future. He's no use to us in the state he's in right now. He needs time to rest. A _lot_ of time. And I think he's scared about being one of Umbrella's targets. He was talking about maybe leaving town, or at least going into hiding for a while."

"Really? He's that worried?"

"May I be completely frank with you?"

"Aren't you always?"

"He's scared shitless, Amber. He got a death threat through the mail yesterday. We all did. Even Rebecca - she had to take the day off today because she's so shaken up about it."

"Death threats?" said Amber, feeling her blood chill. "Like what?"

"Take a look at this," said Jill, producing a small clear plastic wallet from the breast pocket of her uniform. "This was dropped through my door early yesterday morning. Don't touch it, though, I'm bringing it in for Forensics to take a look at after lunch. I'm hoping maybe they can trace it."

Amber took the plastic wallet gingerly from Jill's hand and examined it as best she could. The item visible through the clear plastic was a small bullet-shaped object, engraved with some writing in block capitals that she couldn't quite make out. She stared at it for a moment in incomprehension until she realised that the object really _was_ a bullet.

"It's been engraved with my name," said Jill dully. "Jill Valentine, and two dates. 1975 and 1998. Whoever sent it made their intentions pretty clear."

"Jill, it must be them. They're trying to scare you so you'll drop the investigation," said Amber, as Jill took the plastic wallet back and returned it to her pocket.

"I'm not even sure it'll stop there," said Jill, with a small shudder. "And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely terrified, but I'm not going to be threatened, or harassed, or spooked into giving up. If we give up this investigation, people will die. It's as simple as that."

"But what if you can't persuade the Chief to pursue it?" said Amber.

"Then we'll find somebody who will," said Jill, pursing her lips disapprovingly. "We'll get the FBI involved, or the CIA, or even the new Special Criminal Investigations branch. Chris has some contacts in the military, they could probably pull some strings. Hell, Amber, we have to do _something_. If we don't stop this company, who will?"

Amber picked up her drink, then put it down again a moment later. She suddenly wasn't hungry or thirsty any more. All she could feel was a cold, empty feeling in her chest, as though fear was eating away at her insides.

Jill and the others were in danger… that meant she was probably in danger too. This frightened her, just as it had frightened Brad into near insensibility. Were the STARS really going to die if they pursued this investigation, or was this just some kind of intimidation tactic?

Things hadn't been going well lately. Chief Irons was inexplicably refusing to authorise an official investigation, leaving the STARS frustrated and incredibly angry. Chris was looking increasingly tired and overwrought, Barry was deeply concerned about his family's safety and was talking about sending them to stay with relatives in Canada, Rebecca was really struggling to cope with the emotional aftermath of the incidents she'd survived, and Jill was still having problems with nightmares, night terrors and insomnia. Brad had already collapsed under the strain of trying to carry out this investigation amid the swirling mass of rumours surrounding the incident, and she wondered if Umbrella was involved in some character assassination, as well as trying to frighten the STARS into giving up. Just how far did their influence spread?

"You're very brave, Jill," said Amber at last.

"Hah," said Jill, stirring her coffee. "I'm not brave. I just don't have anything left to lose. My reputation's shot to hell, STARS is a four-man laughing stock, I'm probably going to lose my job any day now, and I'm being evicted from my apartment next week because my landlord thinks I'm dangerous and psychotic."

"You've still got your life," said Amber.

"Life?" said Jill shortly. "What life? My life is ruined. Every time I close my eyes I see my friends die. I run through that mansion in my sleep. I have to check my apartment for monsters before I go to bed and I still wake up screaming every night. Everyone outside of STARS thinks I'm crazy apart from you and my cat, and I spend every free moment working on this investigation to try and make the nightmares go away. What kind of life is that?"

"What about Adam and Sarah? You still have a family. Don't say you have nothing left to lose. You still have your brother and sister, don't you?" said Amber gently. "I bet they don't think you're crazy."

Jill stiffened, then she grabbed her handbag from the table. She wrenched it open and took out a cellphone, stabbing in a number at frantic speed and raising it to her ear.

"Adam, pick up, pick up," she murmured, over and over. "Oh, God, I hope it's not too late… pick up, Adam, come on, pick up, pick up - "

"Adam?" she said, as her brother finally answered the phone. "Adam, it's me, Jill. You have to start drinking again."

"_What?_" said an incredulous voice on the other end of the line. "_Are you crazy? I only just got out of rehab!__"_

"Well find an excuse to get back into rehab!" Jill screamed, and several customers at the other tables gawped at her in astonishment. "Start betting on greyhounds again, or go to Las Vegas and blow the rest of your life savings, then get your friends to make you admit you have a gambling problem so they can make you get help! Or stop paying your rent and health insurance and blow the money on designer clothes! Get a shopping addiction or something! Anything! Please!"

"_Jill - what? What__'__s up with you? Why do you want me to get back into rehab?__"_ said Adam Valentine, sounding puzzled. "_What__'__s the matter? Has something happened?__"_

"Adam, please," said Jill, who looked like she was about to cry. "Please, you have to. I can't explain right now, but just - just get back into rehab. You'll be safe there."

"_Well, I guess I could pretend to have obsessive-compulsive disorder again so I can go back to the Maple Hills Clinic,__"_ said Adam reluctantly. _"__The food__'__s good there, and they have these really hot Swedish nurses. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time - __"_

"Adam, not now, okay?" said Jill, cutting her brother off mid-sentence. "Just get a problem and get help. I'll call you later and explain. Okay?"

"_Okay. Take care, sis. I__'__ll start practising my twitching, maybe work on a nervous tic._"

"You do that," said Jill shakily, and hung up. Amber watched her in silence as she dialled another number with trembling fingers and lifted the phone to her ear again.

"_Hello?_" said a voice right away, young and female this time.

"Sarah?" said Jill. "Sarah, honey, it's me, Jill. Are you okay?"

"_Yeah, I__'__m good. Nebraska is totally cool, they have these, like, seriously cute quarterbacks here. I__'__ve dated three of them already. The one I__'__m with now, Brett, he has a really awesome car. It is soooo awesome. You know those vintage Cadillacs? He__'__s got a red one and he drives me around town - __"_

Sarah Valentine abruptly stopped talking.

"_Jill, what's the matter? Are you all right? What's happened?"_

"Sarah, I - I want you to start living on campus as soon as possible," said Jill. A single tear was trickling down her right cheek, like a drop of water running down the smooth, pale face of a marble statue.

"_What? But I like it here!__"_

"I know you like sharing a house, but it's not safe. You need to get your own room the minute term starts. Put extra locks on your door, and a couple of chains, and don't go out after dark. Don't go out alone at all, and don't leave the campus unless you have to. If you do, take Brett with you."

"_Jill, I don__'__t understand, what__'__s going on?__"_ whined Sarah._"__Why do I have to live on campus? Nikki and Carla and Miranda are really going to struggle with the rent if I go, and I don__'__t think they__'__ll ever forgive me for it. I__'__ll be like the social leper on my course for the next three years__…__ come on, Jill, can you at least tell me why you__'__re totally ruining my social life?__"_

"Because you're my little sister and I'm worried about you," said Jill, suppressing a fit of sobs and clutching a handful of tablecloth. "Sarah, sweetheart, please don't ask why. Not right now. Just do it, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

"_Why would I get hurt?_"

"Please just do it!"

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"_Okay,_" said Sarah finally. _"__Okay, I will. I__'__ll make up some excuse for the girls and blame you if they start asking questions. But you__'__d better have a real good reason for doing this to me, Jill. And as soon as this is over, you are so going to tell me what it is.__"_

"I will, I promise. As soon as it's safe."

"_All right then. Call me, okay? Ciao.__"_

The line went dead as Jill's sister hung up. Jill put her cellphone back in her bag and looked around. For the first time, she noticed the sea of bewildered faces watching her from the other tables. Even the waiters had stopped in their tracks to stare.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped.

The waiters looked away hurriedly and started walking again. Customers shook themselves and returned to their meals and conversations, making slightly more noise than was probably necessary.

"We'd better get back to the precinct," said Amber, as Jill dabbed her eyes with a napkin. "We're going to be late getting back."

"Was I really that loud?" said Jill, ignoring her.

"Put it this way… yes. The entire restaurant heard you," said Amber, deciding to dispense with tact.

"Oh, God," said Jill, looking panicky. "What if there are Umbrella employees here? What if they heard what I said, or worse, what Adam and Sarah said on the phone? Oh no, Umbrella's going to know where my brother and sister are, I'd better call them again and tell them to get out of the country - "

"Jill, stop overreacting," said Amber, rolling her eyes. "I know every single one of the people eating here and none of them has connections with Umbrella. The only possible link any of them could have with the company is the fact that our friendly waiter's half-brother's cousin's sister was one of the hikers who got attacked in the mountains. That's _all_. I know you have every right to be paranoid, but in this case it's not necessary. You could hardly hear your brother and sister over the phone anyway. I only caught their halves of the conversation because I'm sitting so close. Nobody else will have heard. Really."

"You're sure?" said Jill, with the faintest trace of hope in her eyes.

"Positive. Now come on, we're going to be late."

Amber drained her own glass and raised her hand.

"Check, please…"

xxxxxxxxxx

"I'm worried about Chris," said Jill, as they walked back to the precinct. "He's getting really wrapped up in this investigation."

"You all are," Amber pointed out.

"Of course, but there's hardworking and dedicated, and then there's obsessed. Chris is getting, well, _obsessed_. He's going nights without sleep, just sitting in his apartment and working all night long. He hasn't been eating properly, either. All he had yesterday was a cup of coffee and a couple of doughnuts. He's exhausted but he's refusing to admit it; he's going to make himself sick if he keeps this up much longer."

"Jill, he's not your boyfriend any more," said Amber, with a sigh. "He's a grown man and he's quite capable of looking after himself."

"Look, I know he and I aren't together any more, Amber, and I don't have any regrets about that," Jill replied. "But ex-boyfriend or not, he's still my colleague and my friend. Just because I don't want to be with him any more, it doesn't mean that I don't care about him. But if I tell him I'm worried about him, he's probably going to take it as a sign that I want to kick-start the relationship again. He's not over me yet and he still thinks that maybe there's a chance we can get back together. Can you have a word with him? Maybe he'll listen to you."

"Jill, if he won't listen to you then he definitely won't listen to me," said Amber. "Why would he listen to me? I was the one who encouraged you to dump him in the first place!"

"Yes, but he doesn't know that, does he?" said Jill. "Come on, you really think I would have told him that my breaking up with him was your idea?"

"Good point," conceded Amber. "All right, I'll talk to him."

"Thanks, Amber," said Jill, looking relieved. "I may still be pissed-off with him, relationship-wise, but I don't want him to work himself to death."

"Me either," Amber agreed. "He can be a jerk sometimes, but he's not that much of a jerk. There are plenty of other people that deserve to drop dead from exhaustion far more than Chris does."

"Like who?"

"Like Officer Fulham. That lazy son of a buttmonkey never does any work and whenever I ask him to get up off his ass, he always complains about how hard he works. He never does a damn thing! And to think he's still on the payroll. The coffee machine does more damn work than he does…"

Jill giggled.

"You know that's the first time you've smiled all week?" said Amber.

"Yeah. Haven't had much to smile at lately," said Jill, and her smile started to fade. "All this trouble with the Chief, and then Brad leaving, well, we haven't had time for anything fun. Sorry I ruined our lunch."

"Don't worry about it, Jill. I understand."

"Next time I'm paying, okay?"

"Suits me."

They were outside the police station gates now, and they both let out a sigh at the sight of the building, its flags barely moving in the still, hot air.

"Well, back to work," said Jill.

"Yeah, back to the grindstone," said Amber, as they walked through the gates. "Did you get those other reports I sent you on the Tuesday and Wednesday attacks?"

"Yeah, we did. Thanks, Amber. You're being a really great help," said Jill. "Don't know what we'd do without you."

"Anything else I can do to help?" Amber offered.

"Actually," said Jill, "there is. There's a whole bookcase of company data files in the library. Quite a few of them are on Umbrella and I've been meaning to go through them, but I just haven't had chance. Our final report to the Chief is being filed now, and Rebecca's pitched in some evidence of her own too. I didn't even know she'd found anything, but she told us about the other mansion and gave us the papers and journals that she'd collected, and I think it might just convince the Chief that Umbrella's been up to no good. Some of the documents she picked up date right back to the Seventies, can you believe that?"

"So you want me to fetch these files for you?" said Amber, hastily changing the subject before Jill could wonder at her total lack of surprise.

"If you've got time, yes," said Jill. "I've got enough time on my hands to be able to go through them now that we've finished the final mission report. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not. Providing nothing major happens today, my afternoon schedule's pretty empty. I've got more than enough time to run up to the library for you," said Amber.

They went into the cool, dim foyer and crossed the floor. It was quieter in here today; the fountain had been cut off due to a water shortage in this section of town, and the sound of rushing water was noticeable by its absence. Amber hadn't really noticed the sound until now. Strange how you take things for granted until you lose them, she thought to herself.

_Don__'__t it always seem to go, that you don__'__t know what you__'__ve got __'__til it__'__s gone__…_

She missed that voice, singing loudly and tunelessly amid the sound of rushing water. Various well-meaning people had told her that it would stop hurting so much after a while, but after two weeks the heartache was showing no signs of letting up.

She missed Joseph with every ounce of her being; it was hard to believe that he really wasn't ever coming back. All that she had left to remember him by were some photographs and memories, a ring that he'd never had chance to give her, and the Zippo lighter that she'd found among his possessions in the STARS office. This last item was currently sitting in the breast pocket of her shirt - the STARS members had told her to keep it, on the grounds that Joseph would have wanted her to have it. She'd offered it to Joseph's family, but they'd told her exactly the same thing, and so Joseph's lucky lighter had been hers to keep.

It had belonged to Joseph's father, who'd served out in Vietnam. He'd passed it on to his son after the war, and Joseph had taken it with him every day.

Every day, except one. She wondered if he might have come home safely if he'd remembered to take it with him, instead of leaving it in the STARS office by mistake. But that was a ridiculous notion, she told herself sternly. Superstitious nonsense. Having an old Zippo lighter in his pocket wouldn't have stopped those dogs from tearing him to pieces.

All the same, she couldn't help wondering if things could have turned out differently…

xxxxxxxxxx

The police station's library was empty, as usual. The officers here weren't big readers and only came here when they couldn't possibly avoid it. Amber quite liked it here, though, and as a rookie she had spent many a happy hour in the library after work, enjoying the peace and quiet as she immersed herself deeply in a pile of reference books.

Then, of course, she'd bumped into Joseph one day and books had suddenly seemed dull and uninteresting compared to that lively, curious young man who was so fascinated with everything that life had to offer - including her. She'd been promoted, her workload had increased and her playful flirtations with her new admirer had resulted in a date, a kiss and another date, and then, before she knew it, someone to make coffee for and kick out of bed in the mornings. There had been no time to read books any more, and why would she want to, when she had Joseph around to make her life more exciting and fun than she could ever have imagined?

She'd trade the chance to read every single one of these books for one last day with him. Knowledge didn't matter when there was no more joy in her life, and nothing to look forward to but justice, and closure. And then what would she do?

_I guess I__'__ll just have to find out. But I__'__ll never know if I don__'__t help the STARS bring Umbrella to justice, so I__'__d better hop to it. Now where do they keep the company files here? It looks like they__'__ve moved everything around again__…_

Amber had been browsing through the metal-finish bookshelves beneath a giant bas-relief of a warrior woman for some time, with no success. The dust and the silence that had settled around her was disturbed again as she crossed the library to look at the other bookcases.

There was a loud creak somewhere above her, and the sound of a faint sniffle. Amber looked up sharply, taking in the green-painted and walnut-panelled walls of the library, the rows of solid wooden bookcases and the little reading desk. She wondered if she'd just imagined the noise. Surely there couldn't be anybody upstairs? The library's second floor was dangerous; the floor was very unstable and likely to give way at any time, and they'd been told not to go up there until the new budget came through and they could afford to conduct repairs.

Amber listened for a moment, then shrugged and looked at the bookcase again. Ah, here they were - company data files, books and folders all stacked neatly on the shelves.

_That__'__s more like it,_ she thought, and removed a hefty book labelled "Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Inc, Ethical Practices 1967-Present".

There was another sound from above her, this time a tiny little half-choked sob. Now she knew she wasn't imagining things. Frowning, Amber tucked the book under her arm, crossed the room to the library's staircase, and climbed to the second level, a balcony with ornate wrought-iron balustrades and the notoriously unstable floor, which was practically groaning beneath the weight of the bookcases. Sitting in front of one of the bookcases, legs dangling from the gap where the railings had broken and fallen away, was a very young rookie. She had long golden hair and was crying quietly into a white handkerchief.

Amber was surprised to see her there at first, but gentle concern took over and she walked carefully along the balcony floor to the young woman.

"Hey, Caitlyn," she said softly. "What's the matter, honey? Are you okay?"

Caitlyn looked up at her, her tear-stained face red with the effort of trying to cry without being heard, and shook her head. She mumbled something incoherently and then started to cry again.

Amber squatted down beside the girl and then sat down, stretching out her legs so that they poked through the gap in the balustrades and dangled over the floor below. She didn't object when Caitlyn rested her head on her shoulder.

"There, there," she said, putting an arm around the girl. "Don't cry. Whatever the problem is, I'm sure it's not that bad. Why don't you tell me all about it? Maybe I can help you."

"No way, I'm going to get fired for sure! There's no way I can complain about this, no way at all!" sobbed Caitlyn. "I'm so embarrassed… oh, God… I've only worked here two months! They'll think I'm making it up for attention, or to file a suit and earn a few quick bucks from the compensation, but I'm not, I'd never do anything like that! I like it here, or at least I used to…"

"Why? What happened, Caitlyn?" said Amber.

"It's the Chief," burst out Caitlyn. "He tried to put his hand up my shirt!"

The foundations of Amber's world seemed to shake at this revelation. This couldn't be possible. The Chief had always been a little eccentric and highly-strung, but sexual harassment?

"You're kidding," said Amber, aghast.

"I knew I shouldn't have told anybody," said Caitlyn, her face crumpling again. "I knew nobody would believe me! You must think I'm lying… you do, don't you?"

"No, no, of course not," said Amber hurriedly, still reeling from what she'd heard. "But what actually happened? Maybe it was an accident, maybe he - maybe he just, you know, brushed past you or something, he probably didn't mean to…"

Her words seemed to be sucked away by the sudden silence descending on the library.

"No," said Caitlyn, shaking her head. "No, he meant it all right. I was on the opposite side of the room and I had my back to him, there was no way it was an accident. And he was, you know, _saying _things to me…"

"What kind of things?" said Amber, chilled by the thought of someone in such a position of power molesting a young rookie. No wonder the poor girl thought she couldn't complain…

Caitlyn looked around, to make sure there was nobody else on the floor below who might be listening, then whispered into Amber's ear. Amber's mouth fell open in horror.

"Oh, God," she said, shocked. "Oh, Caitlyn, if he did something like that to you then he can't be allowed to get away with it."

"But I can't complain, he'll fire me," said Caitlyn tearfully. "I don't want to get fired! Not from my first job!"

"No, Caitlyn, you won't get fired. You didn't do anything wrong," said Amber gently. "Let me talk to a couple of the other officers about this and I'll see what I can do for you. Normally something like this would go straight to the Chief, but since you've told me that he was the one who did it, then it'll probably have to go higher up. Look, I'll ask Officer Ryan what to do, he's in charge of station personnel. He'll know how to handle the situation and go through all the necessary procedures."

Caitlyn nodded, and blew her nose.

"Thank you, Officer Bernstein," she said quietly. "I know what you must think of me, because the other guys in West Office said you don't tell tales on fellow officers, but I - I had to tell somebody."

"No, Caitlyn, you did the right thing," Amber assured her. "This isn't snitching on someone for taking too long on a lunch break or using someone else's pencils without asking. This is serious. We can't do anything about a problem like this unless we know about it. And if this can happen once, then it'll probably happen again unless we do something to stop it. I'll make sure something's done about this. In the meantime, don't worry. Go and talk to Officer Ryan, he's a nice guy and he'll help you. I'll have a word with him myself later. We'll sort this out, Caitlyn, don't you worry."

"Thank you, Officer Bernstein," said the girl again, withdrawing her legs from the gap in the railings and getting to her feet. She dusted off her clothes and wiped her eyes.

"That's all right," said Amber, standing up and dusting down her own uniform. "But don't come up here again, okay? The floor's unstable and it's not safe. You could get hurt if the floor suddenly gives way."

"I won't," Caitlyn promised, and made her way to the stairs.

"Caitlyn?" said Amber suddenly.

Caitlyn paused, her foot already on the first step, and looked at her.

"Thank you for telling me."

Caitlyn nodded and hurried downstairs. She turned left at the foot of the stairs and was out of the door in an instant.

Alone in the room again, Amber sighed. It seemed as though the whole precinct had unanimously decided to make her its new agony aunt, but nevertheless she was relieved to know that she'd been able to help.

Poor kid. She couldn't believe that the Chief could really have done something like that, but the look on the girl's face had told her everything that she needed to know. This was no false accusation; she was genuinely distressed. Even if the facts of the case couldn't be confirmed yet, there was no mistaking the fact that something bad had happened to her. The Chief was kind of a strange guy, too. Maybe that was the reason why she'd always felt uncomfortable in Chief Irons' presence…

Amber shook her head sadly, and went downstairs to look through the bookcase of company data files again. She put the book under her arm to one side for a moment and picked three more out from the bookcase, flicking through the dusty pages and then stacking the books on the floor. These were definitely the ones Jill wanted.

Soon she was standing next to a knee-high pile of books and files on Umbrella. She was immersed in another book on Umbrella's recent recruitment campaigns when she heard the library's double doors open, but didn't really pay attention to whoever had come in.

Ten minutes later, Amber had everything she needed. She went over to the little reading desk to reshuffle the big heap of books and files in her arms, unsure if she could make it all the way to the STARS office like this without dropping them. She was piling the last and thickest hardback book onto the stack and was preparing to pick up the whole lot when she felt someone standing behind her.

She was about to turn around when she felt the unmistakable sensation of her rear end being pinched. Instantly furious, Amber turned round like an avenging angel and smacked her assailant in the face with the book as hard as she could.

"Pinch my ass again and I'll sue yours, you son of a bitch!" she yelled, as the man behind her hit the floor with a thud. "Keep your hands to yourself or I'll - "

The person now lying unconscious on the floor was a thickset man with a receding hairline and a neatly clipped brown moustache. His muscles were running to middle-aged flab and there was no disguising this, not even with the multiple layers of shirt, tie, loose pants and a plain grey waistcoat. There was a bright pink patch on his forehead where the book had hit him. Amber gasped out loud, horrified by what she'd just done.

_Chief Irons…_

She'd just knocked out the Chief of Police with a hardback book. Admittedly, he shouldn't have been pinching her ass in the first place, but nevertheless, she'd hit the Chief of Police. He was probably going to press charges for assault now, or at least have her suspended - unless of course he'd hit his head hard enough, in which case he probably wouldn't remember a thing, or would at least be too embarrassed to take the matter up with her.

Chief Irons was stirring slightly. Panicking, Amber grabbed the books and files from the table and ran out of the library as fast as she could before he woke up and gave her a piece of his mind.

_Just when I thought my life couldn__'__t get any worse__…_

xxxxxxxxxx

Chris and Jill were the only ones in the STARS office when Amber returned. Jill was re-reading what she'd written in her notebook over lunch, and Chris was hunched over a pile of old newspapers, muttering quietly to himself.

Jill was right, thought Amber; he really did look ill. Pale and tired, with dark shadows under his eyes, he looked ready to collapse at his desk. He looked up and smiled manically at the sight of her - a smile fuelled by the strange reserves of energy that powered those on the brink of total collapse after several days without food or sleep.

"Oh, you got the files! That's great," he said, as Amber laid them carefully on Jill's desk. "Thanks, Amber. Jill and I can go through these and get together some more material for the investigation."

"How's it going?" said Amber.

Chris sighed wearily, the manic energy suddenly evaporating, and he slumped over his desk.

"Not good," he said. "The Chief still isn't buying it. How much more convincing does he need, for crying out loud? Does one of us have to bring a zombie in from the woods and let it eat us right in front of him? But no, he keeps feeding us this bull about not wanting people to panic!"

"Surely they're going to panic a lot more if they see more attacks in the city?" said Amber, raising her eyebrows. "And if we're not even being allowed to investigate, or do anything about it, then we could end up with a massacre on our hands. Not to mention a full-blown epidemic. The T-Virus is spreading into the city, isn't it?"

Chris nodded.

"Yeah. It is. The monsters are coming in from the forest and bringing the virus in with them. Whenever they attack somebody, they transfer the T-Virus to the victim, and then the victim becomes a zombie. The more victims there are, the more zombies there'll be, and the more zombies there are, the more victims we'll have, and - well, you get the picture."

"And we're not even being allowed to stop them," said Amber. "But why?"

"I don't know," said Chris. "I'm beginning to wonder if maybe Chief Irons has some sort of conflict of interest going on. Perhaps I should get the FBI to carry out an investigation. There must be some kind of hidden agenda of his somewhere along the line..."

"If there is, then that's not all he's been up to," said Amber darkly. "I ran into a rookie in the library and she claims the Chief tried to put his hand up her shirt."

"He did _what_?" gasped Jill, letting the notebook drop from her hands. "He didn't!"

"Oh, believe me, he did," said Amber. "He pinched my ass not five minutes ago. That's why he's still on the library floor wondering why his head hurts so much."

Jill looked disgusted.

"I can't believe it," she said. "I knew he was a strange guy, but I never thought he was the type to put his hands where they weren't wanted. You need to tell Officer Ryan, Amber, and get him to look into this."

"I'm on my way down to see him right now," said Amber firmly. "I have _no_ intention of getting fired just because he can't keep his hands to himself. And if he's been harassing rookies, then it's all the more important that Nick gets told what the Chief's been up to."

"Out of interest," said Chris, raising his head from the stack of newspapers he was using as a makeshift pillow. "Which rookie was he allegedly pestering? I heard one of the new girls is a real compensation junkie; she'll sue anyone if she thinks she can get some cash out of it. We need to make sure this is a genuine claim before we do anything we might regret."

"Caitlyn," answered Amber. "Caitlyn Emerson."

Chris sat bolt upright.

"Caitlyn Emerson? You mean Little Cate?" he exclaimed. "He actually tried to - right, that does it! I'm going to break his neck! He's going to spend the rest of his life being spoonfed! How dare he put his filthy hands all over a sweet little thing like her? How could he? She's just a kid!"

"Chris, cool it!" Jill ordered. "Amber and Nick will take care of this. You stay here and help me go through these files. We're going to carry out this investigation whether the Chief likes it or not."

Chris nodded silently.

"Okay, Jill. But you'd better take care of that, Amber," he added. "I've known Caitlyn a long time. Her brother's an old friend of mine and I don't want any harm coming to her because you forgot to report this. Understood?"

"Yes, I do understand, and don't you talk to me like that, Chris Redfield," said Amber, faintly annoyed at being told what to do by her best friend's ex-boyfriend. "I'm not stupid, you know. I'm going to take care of it right now."

xxxxxxxxxx

Half an hour later, Amber emerged from the back room of the conference room where the STARS mission briefing had taken place just a couple of weeks ago. The conference room - _why did everyone call it that, anyway? It was the mission briefing room, the actual conference room was right at the other end of the building, in the east wing_ - had been quiet at this time of day, and she'd been able to converse with Officer Nick Ryan in private.

It turned out that he'd already talked to Caitlyn and promised to help as much as he could. However, he admitted that this wasn't going to be straightforward, especially since the Chief was involved.

"There'll be a disciplinary hearing, although I don't know how much good it'll do. It could take quite a while to arrange, and we may need some more evidence before we can go ahead. Caitlyn's testimony will only go so far. But I'll do the best I can, Amber. I've arranged some time off for her so she won't have to come into contact with the Chief for the time being."

"Thanks, Nick."

"No problem," said Officer Ryan. "I've helped her to file a formal complaint against the Chief and that'll go through the appropriate channels. With a little luck, maybe we can have this resolved soon. God knows we've got enough to do without sorting out problems like this. It couldn't have come at a worse time."

"Well, it's not like she could help it," Amber objected.

"No, of course not," agreed Officer Ryan. "I'm glad you persuaded her to tell me. There's chaos enough around here what with all the attacks, and we don't need a lecherous Chief of Police running around trying to grab the ass of every woman who works here. Let's just hope we can fix this soon. Anyway, I'd better get going, I have a pile of work to do. See you round, Amber."

Amber watched the handsome dark-haired officer walk away, then turned to walk back to the west office, where she'd been working this morning and where, providing Marvin hadn't changed the rota again, she would be working for the rest of this afternoon.

However, she stopped short at the sight of an irate-looking Chief Irons blocking her way. There was the beginning of an ugly bruise on his forehead, and Amber gulped. He definitely didn't look happy to see her.

"Officer Bernstein," he said, his voice soft and dangerous. "I'd like a word with you in my office, please…"


	6. Pep Talk

**6: Pep Talk**

Amber had only been inside this room once before, but it was just as dark, cramped and forbidding as she remembered. The walls of the gloomy and windowless office were a dull grey-brown, and there was a Persian carpet on the bare floorboards, but these were only the little things that you noticed after you'd taken in the furniture that filled the room from wall to wall.

First you saw the wooden desk at the far end, emblazoned with the RPD logo and piled with paperwork; on the wall behind it was a tacky modern art painting in black and a variety of lurid colours, and a host of monochrome photographs that she'd never had the chance to examine closely. There was also a table and a pair of chairs upholstered in a lilac-blue material, a brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and bookcases lining the walls.

There were some photographs on the bookshelves, mostly of hunting and fishing expeditions; nothing unusual, since these were popular pastimes in Raccoon County, particularly in the smaller mountain towns. There were lots of books, too; attractive leather-bound volumes arranged neatly on the shelves, entirely ordinary and pleasant until you noticed that every single book concerned the art of taxidermy. There was even a bookcase stacked with bottles, not of alcoholic beverages to put nervous visitors at their ease, but of chemicals and other preservatives which gave the room a unpleasantly musty smell.

But worse than the darkness, worse than the smell of chemicals, worse even than the oppressiveness of the cramped room, was the collection of stuffed animals. Glassy eyes stared out from every direction; there were deer and moose heads, a falcon perched on a branch, various small and harmless fluffy creatures and even a surprised-looking raccoon, all of them frozen forever in death and carefully preserved by the taxidermist's art.

Amber looked at each of the trophies and tried not to shudder. Even though she knew the animals were long dead, she still got the horrible feeling that she was being watched. The trophies seemed to be looking intently at her, as if silently rebuking her for having dared intrude into the Chief's inner sanctum.

Taxidermy was a strange hobby, she thought. The Chief was obsessed with collecting trophies and was said to make his own too. She wondered whether he'd bought the raccoon somewhere, or whether he'd taken the opportunity to practise his skills on one of the town's mascots after a weekend hunting trip.

_Here's one I made earlier…_

The door slammed shut and Amber jumped as Chief Irons moved past her, walking across the room with a surprising lightness of footstep for such a large man. He took his place in the leather office chair behind his desk and folded his arms.

"Come here, Bernstein," he said softly.

Amber took a few hesitant steps forward, trying to control the urge to turn and run from this horrible room and the man whose unwelcome advances she had already spurned with considerable force.

"Well now, Lieutenant," said the Chief calmly. "It seems that the past two weeks have been quite eventful for you. My condolences on the death of your partner, by the way. A terrible thing to happen. Most unfortunate."

"Thank you, sir," said Amber woodenly.

_How dare you mention Joseph in front of me less than an hour after grabbing my ass! I ought to make you eat that damn raccoon!_

"Lieutenant Bernstein, you have friends in the STARS unit, do you not?" said Chief Irons, raising one eyebrow very slightly.

"They were all my friends, sir," replied Amber, still trying to keep her face and voice devoid of any emotion.

"And I understand that Officer Valentine is your best friend."

"Yes, sir."

"You've known each other from a very early age, or so I'm told. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must be very close."

"Yes, sir."

"Has it ever been your desire to follow her into the STARS unit?"

"No, sir. I'm not cut out for that kind of work. My duty is to serve the citizens of Raccoon City by protecting the innocent and keeping the streets free of crime and disorder."

The words came automatically, after years of repetition. She could have said them in her sleep. They certainly seemed to please Chief Irons; the sight of that oily smile made her stomach turn.

"Quite right," he said approvingly. "Then you will understand that, while your work may sometimes bring you into contact with the STARS, you should not be troubling them unduly."

"I'm not sure I understand, sir," said Amber, her expression carefully blank.

Chief Irons looked less than impressed with this response. He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, his meaty elbows hitting the desktop with a smack.

"What I am _saying _is that you should not be interfering in their affairs, Lieutenant," he told her. "You have work to do, and so have they. I suggest that you refrain in future from bothering them while you and they are on duty."

"Bother them, sir? I don't bother them," Amber said innocently.

"Then pray tell me why you seem to have been such a frequent visitor to the STARS office in the past two weeks, Bernstein," said the Chief calmly, and Amber felt herself starting to panic.

_No, don__'__t panic. Tell him the truth. Just choose your words carefully._

"One visit was to retrieve my late boyfriend's possessions," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady while her heart pounded like a sledgehammer. "Another was to keep Officer Chambers company while the STARS met with you on a previous occasion. She's young and in need of advice from more experienced officers, and… well, she just needed someone to talk to, sir. What happened to Bravo Team really upset her."

"From that I gather that the STARS' version of events has already been related to you, Lieutenant," said the Chief brusquely, all smiles and pleasantries set abruptly aside.

Amber silently cursed her stupidity.

"Would you like to know the truth about what happened, Lieutenant?"

"I think we all would, sir."

"Yes. Well. The truth is that there was no mansion, no conspiracy, and most definitely no zombie virus. Bravo Team were killed in a helicopter crash, and those who survived were unfortunate enough to encounter some wild animals. They were killed and eaten; it is believed that the profound effect of this on the only survivor, Officer Chambers, has in some way affected her mental state. Officer Chambers was rescued by her colleagues from Alpha Team, but regrettably Officer Frost and Captain Wesker were attacked and killed, also by wild animals. The proliferation of blue herb pollen in the area, which as you may already know is hallucinogenic, affected the surviving members of Alpha Team, causing them to believe that the wild animals in question had been, in fact, monsters, and that an old hunting lodge in a nearby clearing was some sort of bizarre mansion residence. The combination of hallucinogens and the onset of post-traumatic stress disorder following the trauma of their colleagues' deaths has seriously affected their judgment, to the extent that they are no longer sure of precisely what happened to them during the mission."

"But how can you be sure of that, sir? After all, there were no other witnesses. Anything could have happened out there," said Amber, having already bitten back her original retort that the STARS were right and that he was a liar and a fool.

"Lieutenant, any sane person will tell you that the concept of zombies existing in real life is patently ridiculous," said the Chief, rather testily. "What the STARS described was impossible and made no sense."

_No, you__'__re wrong! It makes perfect sense! The mission, the attacks, the death threats from Umbrella, they__'__re all linked! Why can__'__t you see that? Or are you just closing your eyes and pretending that it never happened so it__'__ll all go away?_

"What about the attacks, sir?" Amber tried again. "Didn't you hear about what happened to one of our volunteers last week? The incident with Kenneth Feng and the dogs?"

"That incident has already been dealt with," said Chief Irons coldly. "I am not prepared to discuss it further. Those dogs were wild animals and are now dead. I am aware that there have been several murders within the city limits but these were clearly the work of crazed murderers, and they will be apprehended, this I assure you."

"Then why not let the STARS help?" Amber persisted. "They're as anxious to investigate these crimes as anyone else here, probably even more - I don't understand why they aren't being permitted to work on these cases. After all, wasn't that the reason why they were sent into the mountains in the first place?"

"The STARS will not be participating in any investigations relating to these incidents. They are clearly unfit to do so," Chief Irons snapped.

"Shouldn't they be on sick leave, then, sir?" said Amber. "I mean, if they're unfit to carry out investigations, then what are they doing here?"

She knew she'd gone too far, but she still jumped as Chief Irons' clenched fists slammed down on the desktop. Rising from his seat, he leaned over his desk, his face contorting with fury and turning a deep, angry red.

"Do not tell me how to run this precinct, Lieutenant! I am the Chief of Police and _you are out of order_!" he bellowed, his jowls wobbling furiously. "For the last time, there are no such things as zombies, the so-called mansion incident was nothing more than a hallucination, and the STARS will _not _be investigating these attacks! That is final! Do I make myself clear, Bernstein?"

Amber's eyes narrowed, but she said quietly:

"Yes, sir. You've made yourself quite clear."

"Yes, I have," said the Chief, sitting down in his chair again and folding his arms once more. His voice returned to its previous quiet and slightly menacing tone. "And now, Bernstein, I will make myself clearer still. You will not assist the STARS in their investigation. You will not associate with them in any way during work hours. You will not question my authority. And finally, you will not interfere with or take part in any kind of investigation relating to the recent attacks, unless you are directly ordered to do so. As for the alleged mansion incident in the Arklay Mountains, that case is now closed. Understood?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, sir."

_You son of a bitch._

"Very well then. You are dismissed, Lieutenant."

Amber dearly wanted to scream with frustration, to seize the man by his collar and shake sense into him, maybe beat him over the head with the stuffed falcon. Instead, knowing that this was an argument that she couldn't win and that attempting to do so might cause even more harm to the STARS' prospects of bringing the case to court, she contented herself with angrily turning her back on the man and walking out of the office.

She shut the door as fast as she could, with a sharp slam that failed to satisfy, and found herself out in the corridor. Rage was boiling inside her; rage that would taint the rest of her shift with irritability and snappishness unless she vented it on something. Better that she take it out on something inanimate, she thought, and kicked the wall of the corridor as hard as she could.

The blow resulted in a very satisfying thump and a perceptible dent in the plaster, followed immediately by a sense of triumph. It wasn't quite bad enough to require the attention of a plasterer, but was just enough to be conspicuous. The notoriously fussy Chief would probably have a fit when he saw it.

_Serves you right, you scumbag. I just wish I__'__d hit you harder the first time._

She swept through the next corridor and went through the door into the white-painted and wooden-panelled waiting room, where the reception desk was unmanned; it looked as though Kenny had temporarily abandoned his post, probably to make himself useful elsewhere.

Her thoughts stopped mid-flow as she noticed two figures sitting neatly on one of the waiting room's benches. Her footsteps came to a halt too, and she looked the two people up and down.

Male. One youngish, maybe late twenties or early thirties, dark-haired, medium build, about 5' 10''; the other middle-aged, blond-haired, medium build, about 6' 1''. Designer suits, smart Italian leather shoes and sleek black briefcases; they were almost certainly executives from one of the big companies, where image was everything. Probably from the Lonsdale Corporation, she thought. They'd just finished refurbishing their headquarters in the Central City business district and had been discussing security arrangements with the Chief last week, so their being here wouldn't be that much of a surprise.

One of the men was idly passing his briefcase from hand to hand, and a flash of light caught Amber's eye as sunlight glittered on the metallic edge of a company logo. But the logo imprinted on the side of the briefcase wasn't the name Lonsdale, but a small circular object in red and white stripes, and beneath it, in silver letters, the name:

UMBRELLA PHARMACEUTICALS INCORPORATED

_Umbrella executives? What the hell are they doing here?_

Amber glared at the two men as she passed. They both stared stonily back at her, and suddenly she felt quite intimidated by them. She shook this feeling off, though; she wasn't about to let two company executives make her feel scared.

"Excuse me, officer, is Chief Irons in this afternoon?" said the older man, when she was almost at the door.

_Who wants to know? And what business does Umbrella have with the Chief of Police? Why are you two here to see him, with your expensive suits and your little briefcases? What the hell are you up to?_

Amber gave the tiniest, tightest nod possible, barely even inclining her head.

"Thank you," said the man. "We'll go right in, shall we?"

But he was speaking to an empty room; such was her desire to get the two men out of her sight as soon as possible that Amber had already shut the door on him.

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber had resolved to find Chris next, so that she could give him a quick pep talk and thus dispense with the last of her unofficial duties for the day. However, it was Chris who found her first, in the corridor near the library.

"Hey," he said, grabbing Amber's shoulder. "Amber, do you have a minute? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Amber nodded, her eyes never once leaving the pale, tired face of her colleague. Chris smiled a little, and ushered her to the black leather-upholstered bench near the window. They sat down together.

"Chris, before you start, I'd like to say something too," said Amber, as Chris opened his mouth to speak. "Look, I'm going to put this very bluntly because I'm in no mood for diplomacy. We're worried about you. You're not eating right, you're not getting enough sleep and you're working way too hard. You're going to make yourself sick if you keep this up. You should get some vacation time or something, take it easy for a little while."

"I don't have time to take it easy, Amber. Umbrella needs to be stopped."

"How are you going to save the world when you look like you can barely stand up? You're in no fit state to save anybody from anything."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Chris demanded to know. "Sit around on my ass while those sons of bitches plan something even worse and more people are getting infected every day?"

"No, of course not," said Amber, sighing. "But you can't carry on like this. You need to start taking better care of yourself, or you'll end up in the hospital half-dead with fatigue. And that's not going to help anyone, is it?"

"Yeah. You're right, Amber," Chris admitted. "I guess I have been pushing myself pretty hard. I just… I just want this to be over. I want this nightmare to end. I want to know that nobody else will ever have to go through what we went through that night, because we made sure it wouldn't happen again. That's why I'm trying to get this investigation completed as fast as possible."

"Chris, you can't rush a case like this. If you do, it'll never get to court. You have to take your time."

"If we take our time, even more people will get killed by the virus! We don't have time to waste!"

"You don't have time to waste by screwing up the investigation and having to do it all over again because you rushed it!"

They glared at each other.

"You need some time off."

"I can't afford time off. Not now."

"And STARS can't afford to lose another member!"

"They won't!"

"Damn right they won't! You're going to get some vacation time!"

"I'm not leaving! They need me here!"

"Jill's worried about you, Chris!"

Chris stopped short, and his expression changed. Amber smiled inwardly. It was a dirty trick, she knew, but if it was the only one that would make Chris see sense, then she had no qualms about using it.

"Jill - she's worried about me?" he said, now looking slightly anxious.

"We all are, Chris," said Amber, exasperated. "Why do you think I'm talking to you now?"

"She said she was worried about me?" said Chris, ignoring this.

"Yes, of course she did. We may still be pissed-off with you after you screwed things up with Jill, but we're still your friends and we care about you, even if you do act like a stupid jackass sometimes," said Amber. "We don't want you to make yourself ill. Even if you won't take time off, at least get regular meals and more sleep. Please?"

"Okay," promised Chris. "I'll try. By the way, you know your break ended ages ago?"

"Yeah, I know," said Amber, with a grimace. "I got called up to the Chief's office. He's onto me and he just told me not to go anywhere near you guys. Basically, he wants me to call case closed on the mansion incident."

"Did you tell him he could go straight to hell?" said Chris, scowling.

"No, he started getting really worked-up and I didn't think I'd make it out alive, so I just said "Yes, sir" and hightailed it out of there as soon as I could. He can definitely go to hell, though, and he can take his disgusting stuffed animals with him."

"Tell me about it. Every time I'm in that room I feel like I need to wash all over afterwards. So what are you going to do?"

"He said I couldn't take part in any investigation about the attacks unless directly ordered to do so. He didn't say who the orders had to be _from_. I'll respect his authority… to his face, anyway. And as for not being allowed to associate with the STARS during work hours, well, he never said anything about not hanging out with you guys after work. As for the rest, he can kiss my ass."

Chris broke into a broad grin.

"Atta girl, Amber," he said, slapping her on the back. "Consider yourself an honorary STARS member."

Amber grinned too, then stretched her legs out and got up from the bench. She was heading for the door when she heard Chris say plaintively:

"Amber?"

She turned to look at him again. The grin on his face had gone now and he looked preoccupied, and also a little lost and sad. It was a look that she'd never seen on Chris' face before; for some reason, it really bothered her.

"Yes, Chris?" she said.

"Does Jill ever talk about me?"

Amber blinked, thrown by the unexpected question. She looked at Chris, saw the look of pleading in his bright blue eyes, and instantly understood what Jill had been talking about.

"Sometimes," she said carefully. "Not often, but sometimes she does. Why do you ask?"

"I - I still like her, Amber," said Chris, in a small voice that surprised Amber once again. "I know I've been an idiot and I don't deserve her, but I never meant to hurt her. I never even realised how much I was screwing up until I lost her. She was the greatest thing that ever happened to me and I miss her so much. I'd do anything to get her back. I just wish I knew how to put things right…"

For the first time ever, Amber found herself feeling sorry for Chris Redfield. She'd never seen anyone look so forlorn before. As he buried his head in his hands, she sidled back to the bench and sat down beside him again.

"I'm sorry, Chris," she told him, as gently as possible. "I'm not sure if you can. It might be too late for that. Did you tell her that you want the two of you to get back together?"

Chris looked up for just long enough to nod, then bowed his head again.

"What did she say?"

"She said no. She said it was over and it was too late for apologies."

"Then that's the way it is, Chris. I'm sorry."

"But do you think maybe she didn't really mean it?" said Chris helplessly. "Maybe she was just saying it for effect, because sometimes people do that and say stuff they don't really mean just because it sounds good in an argument, and deep down they really just want to make up and start over… do you think she might have done that?"

"I don't know," said Amber, settling for strict honesty. "All I know is that when a woman says no, it doesn't mean yes, or maybe, or that she might change her mind if you keep asking - it really does mean no."

Chris threw up his hands in despair.

"I don't know why this relationship stuff has to be so complicated," he said miserably. "Why can't people just say what's on their mind, instead of playing all these dumb games and expecting other people to work out what they want?"

"I don't know either," said Amber, shaking her head in sympathy. "I guess your problem is that you always say exactly what's on your mind, and what's on your mind isn't always what people want to hear. That's probably why you lost Jill in the first place."

"Do you think there's any chance she might - you know, maybe change her mind someday?" said Chris, with the faintest flicker of hope in his eyes.

"If she does, I'm sure she'll let you know," said Amber, and saw his face fall once again. "Until then, you're just going to have to live with the fact that she's not your girlfriend any more."

"Okay," Chris said, quietly and unhappily. "Thanks for your help, Amber. I'll let you get back to work now."

Amber got up without another word and left the corridor. As the door closed behind her, she could have sworn that she heard a tiny little gulping sob, quickly suppressed; it seemed that Chris wasn't quite as tough and insensitive as she'd thought he was.

_So today I__'__ve been sexually harassed, assaulted the Chief of Police, made a STARS member cry, become the unofficial agony aunt to half the precinct, and nearly ended up with my head hanging on Chief Irons__'__ office wall next to the stuffed deer. Whatever next?_

xxxxxxxxxx

Four hours of paperwork later, Amber's eyes ached. With one hand clamped to her forehead to try and suppress the beginnings of a vicious headache, she tried to read the patrol roster outside the east office.

_Downtown, Warren St - Limetree & Havant_

_6:30 PM - T. Lonsdale and G. Scott_

Poor Tim. He didn't deserve to be teamed up with George Scott after what had happened to him at the precinct's New Year's Eve party, she thought. That was the night when a drunken George Scott and two equally drunken colleagues had decided that it would be _hilarious _to put glue on the toilet seats in the men's room. An unsuspecting Tim had gone to the men's room ten minutes later and had eventually been found the next morning, still glued to the spot, his cries for help having apparently gone unnoticed. Unsurprisingly, he'd never really forgiven George and his friends for this and still refused to speak to them in public.

_Downtown, Anthony St - Hutchinson & Banks_

_6:40 PM - A. Kingsley and J. Weyland_

Ah, the unstoppable duo of Alan and Jodie were being sent out again. They worked well together as a rule, but given that Alan was pathetically scared of the skaters and this particular beat covered the neighbourhood where most of the Sk8boarders lived, this probably wasn't the best place for him to be patrolling.

_Uptown, Sheryl St business district - East 63rd St_

_6:50 PM - N. Carlsen and R. Willcox_

Neil Carlsen and Elliot Edward were another pair seen frequently on the patrol roster, but this time the two friends had been split up. That meant that Edward was almost certainly pretending to work in the west office - she'd been told that nobody in the east office ever wanted to see him in there again after the episode now known as "the little accident with the filing cabinet" - and that poor, blameless Rita Willcox was now on the receiving end of one of Carlsen's legendary sulks.

_Uptown, Autumn Park Drive - Beverley Gardens_

_7:00 PM - A. Bernstein and K. Ryman_

Amber smiled. Being in a patrol car with Kevin could be nerve-wracking, especially when he was driving, but she'd known Kevin almost her whole life and never had any objections to going anywhere with him on foot.

Putting them on this beat was lunacy, though. This wealthy uptown district never saw any action; street crime was rare this far from the rough neighbourhoods and violent crime was virtually unheard of. There was very little in the way of theft here, either, since any burglars who decided to try their luck in this part of town invariably ran away seconds later with guard dogs nipping at their heels. Even domestic disputes were handled by divorce lawyers and not the police. Why put two experienced officers like her and Kevin on this beat and not in the heart of downtown, where they were known and trusted and could actually do some good?

"Lousy walk we've got today, huh, Amb?" said Kevin, coming up behind her. "That neighbourhood's the other side of town and dull as can be. Nothing ever happens up there. Can you believe they paired up Lonsdale and Scott? What a mess. The only incident report we'll get from them is "He tried to kill me!" written in duplicate."

"Think we could swap beats with Alan and Jodie?" said Amber hopefully.

"Not a chance," said Kevin immediately. "They caught Alan trying to get out of a downtown patrol last week because he didn't want to go through gang territory. He's been warned not to pull that stunt again or next time he'll be hauled up in front of the Chief."

"I wouldn't wish that on anybody," said Amber sincerely.

"Don't blame you," said Kevin, with a chuckle. "I heard about the library thing. Good for you, kid. You give that guy one from me next time, okay?"

"There's not going to _be _a next time, Kevin," said Amber, cringing. "I'm not going anywhere near the guy unless I can help it."

"Right. Anyway, nearly seven. Time to move."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was still light outside, but the sun was now hanging low on the horizon and the sky was heavily streaked with orange and pink. Mercifully, the temperature was starting to drop, but it was still uncomfortably hot and there was no relief from the humidity even outside in the fresh air.

"Ugh… man, this sucks. I wish we'd taken the car," said Kevin, letting out a long, loud groan as he wiped his forehead. His face was pink and shiny with sweat. "Too hot to walk right the way across town."

"It's a _foot_ patrol, Kevin. That's the whole point," said Amber, who wasn't faring much better. Her feet were sore from walking, her shirt was clinging to her back and shoulders, and she could feel the heat radiating from her body; she had a feeling that she was just as red in the face as Kevin after all this walking. Even her hair had gone limp and lifeless in the heat.

She was beginning to think longingly of air-conditioned patrol cars and the cool breeze from an open car window. What she wouldn't give for that right now, she thought, even if it did mean having to put up with Kevin's horrible driving...

"We could have driven to Autumn Park Drive and then taken it from there. We didn't have to walk halfway across the city on a day like this," complained Kevin.

"And you didn't have to run your patrol car into a street sign yesterday because you were driving too fast, either," Amber shot back at him. "They said it'll take at least a week to get all the dents out of the hood, not to mention all the other damage you caused."

"Now wait a minute, that was _not_ my fault, and I _wasn__'__t _speeding," Kevin said hotly. "I was out with Hugo Elran pursuing a suspect and the guy made a right turn at the very last minute. We tried to follow him and next thing we know, bang, we're wrapped round a "No Right Turns" sign. And I'll have you know that Elran was driving, not me."

"Right," Amber scoffed. "And I'm Queen of the Nile. You _never_ let anyone else drive."

"Anyway, we got him," Kevin continued, ignoring this interruption. "But unfortunately there aren't any spare patrol cars right now, so I'm fresh out of luck. Guess I'm stuck being a pedestrian till the end of next week."

"Sucks for you," said Amber tartly.

"It wasn't even that bad," said Kevin, looking sulky. "It was only a few little dents. I bet it would have gone just fine today. All I have to do is lay hands on a car and it goes like magic."

"Right into another street sign?"

"Oh, shut up."

It was some time before either of them spoke again. Only when they reached an attractive tree-lined residential street with the sign "Autumn Park Drive" on the corner did Amber think of anything to say.

"Well, we're here," she said brightly, nodding towards the sign.

"Mmm," agreed Kevin, who already looked too tired to walk another step.

"And it's only… five to eight? Wow. I never realised how far away some of these uptown suburbs were from downtown. No wonder everybody up here has at least one car in the driveway."

"Mmm," said Kevin again, not looking particularly interested.

Above him, the first of the streetlights flickered into life, casting soft white light over a small stretch of Autumn Park Drive. The sun had dipped below the horizon now and light was slowly ebbing from the sky, leaving soft twilight in its wake. Amber was starting to feel a little more comfortable now that the air was cooling, and her spirits were lifting.

"Isn't this the street where that guy lived?" said Kevin suddenly.

"What guy?" said Amber, looking up.

"You know, Schneider, that businessman who went missing earlier in the summer," continued Kevin. "Didn't he use to live in this street?"

"I can't remember," said Amber. "Maybe he did. What happened to him, anyway? Did they ever find him?"

"Now that you mention it, yeah," said Kevin. "They found him in the river a while back; I think it was sometime around late June. All over the news. They said it was some kind of hiking accident, or maybe a run-in with a grizzly. Guess he just went for a walk in the woods, got mauled by a she-bear, fell down the mountain and eventually washed up by the riverbank just outside town. Could have happened to anybody. Hey, did you hear the rumour that's been going around lately?"

"Which one?" teased Amber. "The one where the STARS went crazy and killed their team-mates, the one where Caitlyn and I beat up the Chief in the library because he turned down our offer of a threesome, or the one about how David Ford secretly likes to develop photos while dressed up like a cowgirl at work?"

Kevin laughed. "Nah, I meant the one about the case Jodie and Alan are working on right now. Did you hear about that?"

"The one about those bodies that went missing from the hospital morgue?" said Amber, her curiosity suddenly aroused. "What about it?"

"Well, I heard Schneider's body was one of the ones that went missing," said Kevin, dropping his voice. "And they're saying the marks on his body didn't look like cuts and scratches, or the right kind of injuries for a bear attack. I heard he had bite marks on his body. _Human_ bite marks."

"Stop it," said Amber, shivering. Suddenly she wasn't so curious about the terrible fate of the unlucky Mr Schneider. "I don't want to hear any more."

"Think it was those cannibals everyone's talking about?" said Kevin, apparently intrigued by this prospect.

"I don't know and I don't want to think about it," said Amber quickly. "Don't talk about it any more, Kevin. Let's talk about something else."

"What, are you scared?" said Kevin, grinning.

"Look, just shut up about it, okay?" said Amber, with so much force that Kevin looked quite startled.

"All right," he agreed. "No more tall tales about cannibals. Probably bullshit anyway. Come on, it's well after eight, we should have finished this patrol already. Let's just get this over and done with so we can go home."

Amber nodded. This sounded like an excellent idea to her. The talk of cannibals - read, zombies - had unnerved her so much that she no longer wanted to be walking around outside now that it was getting dark, nice neighbourhood or not.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Damn," said Kevin, much later. "How big _is_ this neighbourhood, anyway?"

According to Amber's watch, they had been patrolling for over an hour and Beverley Gardens was still several blocks away. Kevin had spent most of the time complaining about the fact that he was meant to be home already; Amber had spent most of the time looking anxiously up at the dark sky and jumping at small noises, all the while trying desperately to remember if there had been any attacks in this part of town yet.

_And, if not, how long before there will be?_

"Big," she answered, moving a fraction of an inch closer to Kevin as they passed a long stretch of privet hedge. "This was my first patrol, actually. I went out with Rita Willcox and David McGraw and we must have walked for hours. Some of these streets just go on and on… I was happy when they started putting me on patrol in downtown, to tell you the truth."

"I know what you mean," said Kevin. "I'm not at home around people who have Ferraris in the driveway and earn more in a week than I do in a year. That's not my world."

"Sure it is," Amber pointed out. "You're a cop. That means _everywhere _is your world. You don't just protect and serve downtown - justice is for everybody. You go where the job takes you and to hell with class issues."

"Of course," said Kevin, a trifle defensively. "I know that. I just hate the way the people here make you feel like they're doing _you_ a favour just by condescending to speak to you. At least in downtown people don't try and act like they're better than you because they earn more money. Up here they talk to us like we're mentally subnormal. Patronising sons of b- "

He stopped mid-sentence and paused in the middle of the street.

"What?" said Amber nervously. The look on Kevin's face wasn't encouraging. "What is it?"

"Can you hear music?"

"Oh," said Amber, breathing out. "Is that all? Yeah, I thought I could hear kind of a bass beat earlier, but it faded out after a while. Probably someone's car stereo turned up too loud. You know the kids round here; just got a new car as a graduation present, all their friends in the back, windows wound down and the bass turned up, cruising around at two miles an hour thinking they're God's gift to motoring and going around the block a few times just to make sure that _everyone__'__s _seen them and their cool new car. It's stupid, yes, and they're not nearly as cool as they'd like to think they are, but it's pretty harmless. I don't usually intervene unless we've had complaints, or if it's really late and their stereo's still way too loud."

"Yeah, I used to do that too," said Kevin, going slightly redder. "Except my car was pretty much one step away from the junkyard. Man, those were the days. Cruising around downtown in the summer with the radio turned right up, the guys in the back hanging out of the windows whistling at Jennie Warwick and Marie Chapelle - "

"Me sitting in the front passenger seat rolling my eyes," interrupted Amber. "You guys were so stupid."

"You sitting in the front passenger seat, chewing gum, trying to make me change stations and throwing your old soda cans at Cindy Lennox whenever we drove past her," said Kevin, almost absent-mindedly. "Remember the time you tried that bottle of tequila the guys were passing round in the back and it was so strong, you sprayed your first sip all over the dashboard?"

"Yeah," said Amber, trying not to grin. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right, I never used the cigarette lighter anyway. And whenever you heard a Van Halen track on the radio you always used to turn the volume up till the whole car shook… ah, good times, man. Good times."

"Yeah… I never did manage to hit Cindy Lennox. She always used to duck. I would've had ten points from Alex and Joel if I'd got her between the eyes."

"Mikey probably would've given you fifty. She was sleeping with his brother back then. He hated her guts. You know he shot her in the ass with his air rifle once?"

"Wow, that's awesome," said Amber, laughing. "Where is he these days, anyway? I haven't seen him for years."

"He's working out in Arizona somewhere. Engineer. Doing well, got a wife and two kids and a place with a picket fence. Fixes up vintage cars in his spare time. I'll tell him you said hi next time he calls."

"How about Alex and Joel?"

"University."

"University? _Alex and Joel_? They didn't even graduate from high school! They were always too busy getting drunk and chasing everything in a skirt to show up for class!"

"Behold, the power of night school. Though they probably misunderstood the real meaning of "Adult Education". You know those two. They'd sign up for anything if it had the word "Adult" somewhere in the title."

"That's Alex and Joel for you. Anything for the prospect of a Playboy mag and a bunch of blue movies. Which university?"

"No idea, but I've had five long-distance calls from them and about a dozen slurred messages on my answerphone. Three of them included the words "Dude, we're, like, in jail again. We need bail money and Mom won't return our calls any more…" and one of them involved this long, incoherent conversation about mutant giraffes."

"Sounds like they're having fun," Amber commented.

As they continued towards Beverley Gardens, they became increasingly aware of a rhythmic bass beat and the honking of car horns, the sound still distant but gradually getting louder and louder.

"Shut up!" they heard someone bellowing a few streets away. "Don't you people know what _time _it is? It's almost nine-thirty! We're trying to sleep in here! Turn it down or we're calling the cops!"

Amber and Kevin exchanged looks.

"House party. Sounds like that place over on Thursfield Park Avenue again."

"We've had three complaints about the noise from that house in the past month alone… come on, we'd better go over there and tell them to keep it down before we start getting complaints back at the station."

Thursfield Park Avenue turned out to be a long street of elegant Victorian houses, lined with tall and stately trees on both sides. It couldn't have been more different from downtown, where the brownstone apartment buildings rubbed shoulders and and everyone parked out front - here there were well-tended yards, luxury cars in each driveway and long, leisurely walks between houses. Most of the residents were well-to-do older couples with a tendency to go to bed early; the windows of the houses were already darkened, the drapes pulled together to keep privacy in and curiosity out.

Peace and tranquillity would have reigned supreme had it not been for the loud, insistent bass beat and the cluster of irregularly-parked sports cars outside house number 2019, a particularly handsome Victorian house with wrought-iron fencing and a beautifully-maintained yard that was clearly the owners' pride and joy. Every window blazed with light and there were bodies all over the lawn; the owners would probably be quite upset if they'd spotted the teenage boy lying in a bed of glorious yellow tulips, casually smoking a cigarette as he stared up at the stars.

"Some party," remarked Kevin, pushing open the front gate and stepping over the recumbent form of a drunken brunette with pigtails. Amber did the same, very carefully, and made her way up the path.

A bunch of tenth-graders from the local high school were sitting on the veranda and the steps to the front porch; an old transistor radio was blaring pop-rock at their feet. The girls were passing round bottles of Raccoon Mountain Beer and shrieking with laughter at every quip from a blond-haired boy, who was well-dressed and handsome.

"You're so _funny_, Justin!" giggled one of the girls, a pretty long-haired blonde in a powder-blue cashmere sweater and designer jeans. "So what happened next?"

The grinning boy was about to reply when he saw Kevin and Amber approaching and froze. Quick as a flash, he stubbed out his hand-rolled cigarette and tossed the butt into a juniper bush.

"Back in a second," he mumbled, and rushed inside.

While the girls stared after him, Amber took the opportunity to pick up the radio and turn the volume right down.

"Good evening, miss," she said to the girl in the cashmere sweater. "My name's Amber Bernstein and this is my colleague, Officer Kevin Ryman. Is this your party, by any chance?"

The girl just laughed.

"I wish," she said. "Pretty good, huh? She may be kind of a nerd but she always has the best parties. If she didn't spend so much time with the street trash she could be the most popular girl in school by now, but she just doesn't care. Frankly I don't know why we even bother trying to help her."

"Well, miss…" began Amber.

"Leonie," interrupted the girl loudly, "Leonie Brown."

"Miss Brown, we need to speak to whoever's in charge of you guys," Amber told her solemnly. "Are there any adults here that we can talk to?"

This comment provoked another outburst of giggles from the girls on the steps.

"Does it _look_ like there are any grown-ups around?" said Leonie, rolling her eyes. "Come _on_, like we'd really have a house party right in front of her parents. Give us _some_ credit, please. What do you think we are, stupid?"

"All right then," said Amber, who'd been expecting this kind of response. She could smell the alcohol on the girl's breath but saw little point in making an issue of it. There was little she could do about alcohol at private parties, even if the girl was technically a minor. "Who's in charge here?"

"Well, this is Lisa's house, but she's no good at organising stuff," said Leonie dismissively. "Julie was the one who did all the work. You should talk to her."

"Julie…?"

"Julie Wilberforce. She's blonde, she's wearing a black skirt and a silver top, and she's got bright red lipstick on. You can't miss her."

"Miss, there are a lot of people here and we haven't got all night," said Amber, with all the patience she could muster. Girls like Leonie and her friends got on her nerves. "We'd like you to take us to her, please."

With an exaggerated sigh, Leonie got to her feet, swaying only slightly in her high heels.

"Hold this for me, Luanne," she ordered, handing her drink to one of the other girls - another blonde, this one wearing a short navy sundress and a pearl necklace. The girl nodded an acknowledgment and took the drink, her white kitten heels still tapping out the beat of the song on the radio.

"And don't drink it," Leonie warned her friend, before turning back to face Amber and Kevin and smiling sweetly. "Okay, guys, come with me…"

She grabbed a startled Kevin by the arm and led the two cops through the open front door into the house.

The wall of sound hit them like a tsunami - laughter, yells, loud conversation, louder music and the occasional crash. It was so loud that Kevin tried to cover both ears with the same hand, and Amber tried to do the same; it was the loudest place she'd ever been in and she doubted that she'd escape with her hearing intact. Oblivious to this, Leonie kept pushing through the crowds of people that filled the hallway, nudging aside other partygoers and constantly gossiping about the other guests:

"Luanne Wade is _such_ an alcoholic, I mean like the _worst_. She never comes home sober after parties. Last time she passed out and Julie and I had to drag her all the way home - all the way home! She lives in, like, Spencer Street! Can you _believe _that?"

Rudely shoving a tall redhead out of her way, Leonie swept through the living room and pointed out a blonde girl in a baby-pink dress. The girl was sitting on the couch, affectionately cuddling the arm of a brooding and disinterested youth with dark hair, who appeared not to notice her. With baggy black jeans, a dark blue shirt worn over a navy t-shirt, black sneakers and a pair of ultra-cool shades, the boy probably wouldn't have looked out of place in downtown if his clothes hadn't been brand new.

"That's Mary Perceval, she's with someone new every week, and that's Tyrone Hayes, he never _ever_ takes off those sunglasses of his and he's had his hair done in the same stupid haircut that downtown puppy of Lisa's has, you know, with his fringe all in his eyes and the rest cut short, it looks totally retarded but he thinks it's cool," Leonie chattered on as they walked past. "Oh, look, there she is - over there talking to Sarah Lee-Robertson, that _bitch _who stole my boyfriend… hey, Julie! The cops want to talk to you!"

Amber and Kevin now saw what Leonie had meant - there was no missing Julie Wilberforce. Even if she hadn't been wearing the world's tiniest black skirt, stiletto heels and a cleavage-baring sequinned silver top, Julie would have been easily noticeable. She was the type of girl who stood out in a crowd, usually for all the wrong reasons.

"The cops?" said Julie, in a voice that penetrated even the sea of noise that filled the house from wall to wall. "What do _they _want?"

"Something about noise," said Leonie, shrugging. "I wasn't really listening. Anyway, they're all yours, Julie. I'm going to get my drink back from Luanne… if there's any left, that is."

Leonie squeezed past Sarah Lee-Robertson - an attractive girl in jeans and an emerald-green halterneck top - giving her a filthy look as she did so. Sarah carefully avoided her gaze, then went over to talk to a pair of drunk and belligerent teenage boys, who were arguing loudly and seemed to be squaring up for a fight.

"… hey, Phil, calm down. No need to be like that. It was an accident, okay?" she told one of them, and Amber vaguely recognised him as the jock she'd talked to the previous week.

"That stupid little jerk drank my drink!"

"Jeez, is that all? I'll get you a new one. Have you seen Kenny?"

"Yeah, he's over there with the others."

"So," said Julie, her chirpy and slightly-too-loud voice bringing Amber's attention right back to her, "how can I be of assistance, officers?"

Kevin cleared his throat.

"Miss Wilberforce, my name is Kevin Ryman and this is my esteemed colleague, Amber Bernstein. We happened to be on patrol in the area when we received a complaint about the noise from one of your neighbours. While I hate to be a spoilsport, I'm going to have to ask you to turn your music down to a reasonable level. It's well after nine p.m. and most people are trying to get to sleep now. If you don't, then I should probably warn you that any further, uh, _infractions _with regard to noise pollution in residential areas will be regarded as behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace and will as such constitute a violation of Raccoon County law, which in this case is punishable by a fine of up to two thousand dollars. So keep it down, okay?"

Julie nodded, her eyes opening wide.

"Of course," she said. "Sorry to bother you, officers. I'll go turn it down."

They watched Julie disappear into the crowd and the noise level suddenly dropped by half. The sounds around them were still loud, but they were mere whispers compared to what had existed ten seconds before. It was certainly an improvement and would avoid the house owners a hefty fine - for now, anyway.

"Much better," said Kevin approvingly. "What time is it?"

"Coming up to ten," said Amber, looking at her watch. "Beverley Gardens isn't far now, maybe a couple of blocks away. I say we run on over there and then head home. You can get a bus from St Michael Boulevard over in Whitchley, that's right by Beverley Gardens and it'll take us back downtown to the precinct."

"Plan," Kevin agreed. "Come on, let's get out of here. I think my eardrums exploded."

Amber nodded, turned around, and bumped right into someone. Something cold splashed all over her shirt, and she looked down in dismay at the ruby-red stain spreading through the fabric.

"I'm sorry - " she began, and stared. Looking back at her was a sleepy-looking Kenny. His eyes were slightly unfocused and he looked unsteady on his feet, and the reek of strong alcohol confirmed her suspicions; he was drunk.

"Kenny?" said Kevin, who'd just noticed him. "I didn't know you were going to a party tonight, buddy. You should've said, we'd have let you go a little earlier today to get ready. You need a ride home later? We can come back for you once we've finished our patrol if you want."

Kenny looked up at him, smiled beatifically, then passed out.

"Oh my gosh, Kenny!" cried a voice from the direction of the living room, and Sarah Lee-Robertson rushed to Kenny's side. After a brief examination confirming that he was unconscious but otherwise okay, she looked up at Kevin and Amber with wide, fearful eyes and said:

"I know he works as a volunteer down at the police station when he's not in school… he's not going to get into trouble for this, is he?"

"Nah," said Kevin carelessly. "Don't worry about it. Kenny's a good kid and he has the right to get drunk off his ass in private just as much as the rest of us. We won't tell anybody."

"Thank you," said Sarah, looking deeply relieved. "He'd be so upset if he thought someone from work had seen him like this. He takes it so seriously. He's very dedicated," she added, almost defensively. "He's a great guy and he loves his work."

"We know," said Amber, smiling; this Sarah girl was clearly very fond of Kenny. "You're right, he is a good kid. We're very proud to have him down at the precinct."

"We'll leave him in your tender care, shall we?" Kevin put in. "We'd take him home ourselves, but we're still on duty and we've got a patrol to finish."

"No, it's okay, we'll take care of him," said Sarah.

"All right, but make sure he gets home safely," warned Kevin.

"We can always call a cab if…"

The rest of what the girl said suddenly became background noise to Amber as she heard something new. She crept up to the nearest door and pressed her ear to the painted wood, listening carefully. Sure enough, she could hear the sound of someone crying on the other side.

Ignoring Kevin and Sarah, who were still discussing the matter of how to get their comatose friend home, Amber took hold of the doorknob and turned it, very gently, until the door clicked and swung open.

She found herself looking into a kitchen that had clearly seen a lot of use over the past few hours. Every surface was spotted with sticky patches of spilled food and drink and covered in a variety of empty and half-empty glasses and bottles, and there were paper streamers strewn all over the kitchen floor. Someone had been spelling out words with the magnetic letters on the fridge, too; the message "jULiE lUvz phiL" was clearly visible amid the forest of fridge magnets and yellow Post-it notes.

Near one window was a Tiffany lampshade, hanging from the ceiling and casting light down onto a pine kitchen table and three chairs. Hunched over the table was a petite teenage girl, about fifteen years old. She had her head in her hands and was sobbing furiously. Her black pants and soft gold-coloured blouse both had damp spots on the material where tears had fallen, and her mascara was streaming down her face in little black rivulets.

Amber stepped forward and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. The girl didn't even look up at her approach, pausing only to move her long dark hair out of her eyes before descending into misery once again. Amber noticed a couple of faint blonde highlights in the girl's hair, now barely visible; it was funny, she thought, the things you noticed at times like these.

"Hey," said Amber gently, after a few moments. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I hate them!" sobbed the girl. "I hate them all! I wish they'd all just go home and get lost! I never wanted any of them to come here in the first place! This is _my _house and they've got no right to interfere with _my life_!"

"You must be Lisa, then?" Amber guessed.

The girl looked up.

"Yes," she said, surprised. "How do you - "

Amber heard the indrawn gasp of horror as the girl looked towards the door and noticed her uniform for the first time. She was expecting her to shriek "Who called the cops?" and panic about being in trouble, but instead she said:

"Oh, your shirt… I'm so sorry, officer! Wait right here, I'll clean that up for you!"

"That's okay," began Amber, as Lisa leapt out of her seat and started hunting through kitchen drawers for cleaning materials.

"No, no, it's not okay," said Lisa fretfully, picking a sponge out of a drawer and leaning down to look through a cupboard. "Cranberry and vodka stains if you leave it for too long and then you'll never get it out… here, let me help you with that."

Amber gave up and allowed the girl to sponge the sticky red liquid from the front of her shirt. If having something to do to take her mind off things made her feel better, she reasoned, then it couldn't do any harm.

"There," said Lisa at last. "That's better. So, are we in trouble for the noise again?"

"No," said Amber, feeling a little uncomfortable about the half-truth. "Not at all. We were just passing by on patrol and thought we'd better check to make sure everybody was okay. You might want to keep the music down now, though, it's getting late."

"All right," said Lisa, wiping her sore brown eyes with a scrap of worn tissue. "I will. I was thinking about throwing them all out pretty soon anyway. My parents are coming home at midnight and I need time to clean this mess up before they get back."

"Are you sure you're all right?" said Amber. "You don't _look _all right."

"I'm fine," said Lisa, taking her seat at the table again and watching Amber follow suit. "Really. Just sick of Julie trying to run my social life. My social life was just fine until my best friend went missing, and then what does Julie do? She takes it upon herself to make me her new best friend before Charlotte's seat even started getting cold. I didn't _want _to be her friend. She treats anyone who isn't popular like dirt - like they don't matter, or even exist. And somehow she always manages to talk me into having parties that I don't want for people I don't even like that much."

Amber didn't say anything at this point. This wasn't the kind of conversation where you were meant to respond; all you had to do was be there, and listen, while the other person talked to themselves.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I know I should tell her no and make her leave me alone," Lisa continued, taking a sip of a drink that Amber sincerely hoped was hers and not one that had been abandoned by a guest. "But somehow I just… can't bring myself to say it. I don't like hurting people's feelings. Thing is, I don't like the way she hurts other people either. Like Jack. He's the sweetest guy there ever was, and she treats him like scum just because he's from downtown. And now that she and the others all think I like him much better than them, they're turning on him even more and trying to keep us apart all the time. Like they're jealous."

Lisa slammed down her glass, so hard that Amber jumped.

"But what do any of them care?" she said angrily. "I'm just the girl with the big house and rich parents who aren't ever around, and that's just great for their stupid parties. I'm only popular because I'm _useful_. If I quit playing along and tried to be myself around them then they'd drop me like a shot because I'd be _different_ - and different always means wrong! That's why they pick on Jack all the time! They just won't leave him alone…"

She started to cry again.

"There, there," said Amber comfortingly. "It's all right, honey. Don't cry."

"He's so nice," said Lisa, through the falling tears. "He's such a nice guy, and they can't see it. They don't even want to try. They don't understand him and that's why they think it's okay to hurt him - I just wish I knew how to make them leave him alone. I can't stand seeing him so scared and unhappy. He's my friend - hell, he's more of a friend than most of these people have ever been to me. But Kenny… I thought Kenny was different from the rest of them. I thought he really was my friend. I can't believe what he's done to me."

"Kenny?" said Amber, stunned. "What did he do?"

"Stabbed me in the back," said Lisa savagely. "He's rejecting me too because I'm friends with Jack now - all because I'm stepping out of that happy little circle of uptown kids and trying to find _real_ friends, friends who won't just use me whenever they want something and then drop me on my ass. I thought Jack and Kenny were the two best friends I could ever have had since Charlotte vanished, but I guess I was wrong about Kenny. Now that I'm hanging out with downtown kids, he doesn't want to know any more. I know I've been spending a lot of time with Jack lately, and not so much time with Kenny, but Jack's new and he's scared of everyone else in our class and I just wanted to help him settle in a little more. I wasn't ignoring Kenny. I never meant to upset him, or make him feel forgotten or left out. I was actually going to ask him to come with me and Jack to the movies tomorrow, so we could all spend some time together, just the three of us."

"I guess three's a crowd, huh," Amber remarked.

Lisa smiled regretfully. "Guess so. He never liked Jack much anyway. It probably wouldn't have worked, trying to keep them both happy, but I wanted to try, you know? I didn't want to pick one of them over the other. That's not what I'm about. But now Kenny's dropped me over what he thinks is _my_ betrayal, I guess it doesn't really matter any more. I just wish it hadn't come down to this. I never meant it to be like this, I really didn't. That was the last thing I wanted."

"It's hard being caught between two sides," said Amber sincerely. "Trust me, I know all about that. But if you want my advice, then stick with this Jack kid. Kenny has a whole bunch of uptown friends to fall back on, but Jack hasn't got anyone. He needs you. Hold onto him and don't let him go. And if Kenny cares about you enough to try and make things work with you again, then he will. If he doesn't, then it's a shame, but at least you'll know you chose the right side."

"There shouldn't be sides at all," said Lisa, looking wretched. "It's not fair."

Amber patted the younger girl on the back.

"Neither is life, kid," she said. "You get used to it after a while. Just stick to your principles and you won't go far wrong. But be nice to Kenny, okay? He may take things a little too much to heart on occasions, but he's a good kid and when all's said and done, he _was_ drunk. Who knows, maybe he'll see things differently in the morning."

"I hope so," said Lisa sadly. "I really do."

"Amber?" said Kevin, peering around the edge of the open door. "Amber, what the hell are you doing? We don't have time to sit around and chat! Come on, we have a patrol to finish!"

"I guess that's my cue to leave," said Amber, smiling helplessly at Lisa. "Nice talking to you. Hope things work out okay."

"Same here. Thank you."

"Any time. Goodnight."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Finally!" exclaimed Kevin, spreading his arms. "It's about time!"

They were now in Beverley Gardens, a small and inoffensive square with houses on all sides and a patch of communal land in the middle, which had been turned into a miniature park with trees, some flowers and benches and a little fountain. The place was entirely dark and deserted, apart from a solitary moth circling aimlessly around a streetlight.

"Well, then," said Amber, after they'd walked around the square. "Time to head home."

"If we ever get home," muttered Kevin. "We'll probably be on patrol again by the time we get back to the precinct…"

Sirens screamed out, and Amber and Kevin's heads jerked up in surprise as a patrol car screeched to a halt at the edge of the square, blue and red lights flashing. The door flew open and out climbed Officer David McGraw, a mutual friend of theirs from way back. Pushing his dishevelled brown hair out of his eyes, he looked flustered and anxious.

"Guys, thank God I found you! Quick, get in!" he cried, as they rushed towards him. "We've got trouble!"

"Trouble?" said Amber, scrambling into the back of the car. "What kind of trouble?"

"Guy on top of the Fairview Motel, down on Whitchurch and North Halifax. He's threatening to jump and it looks like he means it," said David. "Kevin, come on, get in or we'll be peeling that guy off the sidewalk all day tomorrow. We don't have time to waste!"

"All right, all _right_," grumbled Kevin, climbing into the back of the car and pulling the door shut. "Man, this job really sucks sometimes…"

Uptown Raccoon City flew past in seconds and it wasn't long before the car pulled up outside a grungy-looking motel in downtown. Amber knew that the Fairview area wasn't a nice neighbourhood. She'd been on patrol down here once and it was the only time in her career that she'd ever wanted to turn tail and run back to the precinct.

This had been the scene of the worst moment in the decade-long rivalry between the skater gangs. It had started with the murder of five Underworld gang members in a random drive-by shooting a few streets away. In an act of revenge, Underworld had ambushed several members of another gang, the Skate Dogs - whom they had wrongly believed to be the culprits - and the Skate Dogs had called for help from their old allies, the Airkickers. Twenty-three people had been killed in the ensuing mêlée before the police could get there; Amber had been on her way home from school at the time, and she could still remember the sight of fleeing gang members and blood on the asphalt. In the midst of the chaos, there had been one solitary downtown kid standing silently in the street, white-faced, unable to move or speak. Fourteen years old, covered in blood and still wearing his gang colours, he'd stood there in shock as he watched the arrests and the bodies being taken away. He had been the last surviving member of the Skate Dogs and Amber still couldn't forget the look in his eyes.

Most of Underworld's members were now in prison, joining three fellow members who had already been jailed the previous year for murdering a PriMadonna; the rest were lying low while they waited for their comrades to return. You hardly ever saw them around now. The Airkickers had long since disbanded, two-thirds of its members dead and the rest too dispirited to carry on skating without their dead friends.

As for the Skate Dogs, they were no more - a week after the Fairview massacre, the sole surviving member had escaped from his hospital bed, returned to this street, climbed up the motel's fire escape and, holding his skateboard closely to his chest, thrown himself off the roof.

And now here she was, years later, standing outside the same hotel in a small crowd of people and watching someone else about to do the same. The motel was a tall building, and in the dark, it was difficult to make out much more than a shadowy figure standing on the edge of the roof.

David grabbed a megaphone from a nearby police officer, who was unsuccessfully trying to coax the would-be suicide down from the building. The junior officer meekly moved aside and let him take over.

"Sir!" David bellowed into the megaphone. "I'm Officer David McGraw! I'm here to talk to you!"

"I don't want to talk!" yelled the figure on the roof. "Go away and leave me in peace!"

"I can't do that, sir! I'm sorry! It's too dangerous!" David called out. "Please sir, I'm here to help you! I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do; I just want to talk to you, okay?"

"I don't want to talk! And I'm going to jump whether you like it or not!" the man shouted, inching towards the edge of the roof.

"Sir, I don't know what's wrong but I know you must be feeling very emotional right now," called David, his voice rising slightly. "And that's okay - we all get like that sometimes! But whatever your problem is, this isn't the answer! Whatever it is that's bothering you, there are people who can help you! There's still plenty of time to make things right, so don't give up! We can find somebody who can help you! All you have to do is come on down from the roof! Can you do that?"

"No!" said the figure at the top shrilly. "I'm not coming down! I don't care what you say, there's nobody who can help me and my life's not going to get better! I'm going to die anyway, so I might as well get it over with!"

"Sir, just - just stay calm!" David urged him. "We're sending someone to fetch you now! Just stay put and we'll get you down from there!"

"No!" screamed the man. "If you come near me, I'll jump!"

"What the hell are we going to do?" muttered David. "Kevin, can't you talk to him? I never was any good at this stuff."

Kevin shook his head.

"My strategy's pretty much the same as yours. Any idea who this guy is? If we know something about him, maybe we can work out what to do next."

"Nobody knows," said David. "We can't tell from down here, he's too high up and in the dark, and he doesn't seem to want to talk to anybody. Bob here tried talking to him for half an hour and couldn't get a word out of him, so I went to fetch you guys. I thought maybe you might know how to talk him down."

"Why can't you people just leave me alone?" screamed the man on top of the motel. "Why won't you go away? Just go! Leave me alone!"

Amber stared up at the rooftop and the lonely figure standing high above her, balanced between the world of the living and the dead. He seemed to have made up his mind which one he wanted to join, but why hadn't he done it already, if he was so determined? Was their presence off-putting - or was he simply clinging on to his last few moments of life, too afraid to take the final step just yet?

There was something oddly familiar about him. Something about the voice… something that she recognised but couldn't quite place.

"That's it! I'm going to jump!"

"All right, sir, let's not be too hasty!" said David nervously. "Take it easy. This is a very big step you're about to take - "

"Yeah, all four storeys of it," said Kevin under his breath, earning himself a glare from Amber.

" - so just keep calm," David continued. "What's your name, sir?"

"Brad," answered the high, hesitant voice above them.

Amber gasped.

"Brad?" she cried, feeling her stomach do a backflip as she suddenly recognised the owner of the voice. That wasn't just some anonymous guy up there about to jump to his death - that was Brad, her colleague, her _friend_, who liked cinnamon doughnuts and hot dogs from the stand at 12th Street, who collected Disney memorabilia and went to every Raccoon City Sharks game, who was brilliant at video games and the _Raccoon Times_ cryptic crossword, who was mortally afraid of sock puppets and dental floss, who - who watched _Pimp My Bride_ and _The Really Late Show with Josh & Bryan _every Friday night without fail…

And he was going to throw himself off a building if she didn't do something. She had to stop him - she'd already lost enough close friends without Brad being driven to his death too.

"Brad!" she yelled, snatching the megaphone roughly from a protesting David's hands and raising it to her own mouth. "Brad, it's me, Amber! Don't move! I'm coming up! Just stay put, okay?"

Before Brad or anybody else could answer, she pushed the megaphone back into David's hands and rushed towards the motel, wrenching open the front doors and throwing herself inside, bowling past the astonished receptionist and hurtling up the stairs.

_Please don__'__t fall, Brad,_ she prayed silently as she took the stairs two at a time, floor by floor. _Please, please don__'__t fall! Please, God, don__'__t let him fall!_

Almost out of breath after running up four flights of stairs without a moment's pause, Amber reached the door to the roof and almost fell onto the handle. The door opened and she tumbled out onto the flat motel roof.

"Ow… that hurt…"

She looked up and saw Brad, standing on the edge of the roof, watching her in astonishment. She stood up, the wind whipping at her hair and clothes as she walked slowly towards her friend.

"Amber, no," he said, backing away from her. "Don't you dare talk me down! I came up here for a reason!"

"So did I, Brad," said Amber, swallowing. "Please don't do this."

"Why not?" said Brad belligerently. "It's my life and I can do what I want with it!"

"Brad, don't! Please! We need you!"

"Why? I never did any good! I couldn't save him, Amber! Joseph's dead because of me!" Brad yelled. "And now Umbrella's after us all and nobody's listening to us, and there's no _point_! I might as well be dead for all the good it'll do! They're going to kill me anyway!"

"And do you really want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you dead?" said Amber.

"No, but I can't take this any more!" cried Brad. "I'm so sick of living like this! All I can think about is how I let everyone down, and how much suffering we've been through, and how it's never going to end because nobody will help us bring Umbrella down! I don't want to live in a world where Umbrella can get away with what they've done!"

"Then don't let them, Brad!" said Amber. "Keep fighting! I know you can do it!"

"No," said Brad, shaking his head. "I can't, Amber. I'm tired. I'm so tired. Please go back to the precinct so I can be alone. I don't want you to have to watch this."

"Brad, I'm not leaving here without you," said Amber, fighting back tears. "Please, I'm begging you, don't do this. Don't leave us here alone. We've already lost so many of our friends. I don't think Jill and Chris and the others can go through all this again. I know I can't."

"Amber, I'm sorry," said Brad wretchedly. "I didn't want to hurt anybody. I just want to find some peace, and this is the only way."

"No, it's not!" protested Amber. "Brad, we _need _you! Chris is working himself to death, Barry's worried sick about his family, Rebecca's a bundle of nerves and Jill's barely coping as it is! What do you think will happen to them if they find out you killed yourself? They'll give up hope and then there'll be nobody standing in Umbrella's way! You need to be strong, Brad, if only for their sake."

Amber's face softened; Brad looked about ready to die of unhappiness.

"Please, Brad," she implored him. "You can do this. I _know _you can. And if you're having trouble, then you know who to come to for help. We're all here for each other, right? We're all going to get through this together. We'll take Umbrella down no matter what it takes, but we all have to be brave."

"I'm scared, Amber," said Brad, his voice shaking. "I'm really scared."

"Me too, Brad," said Amber. "But it's okay to be scared. It's okay, it really is."

"They're not after you," said Brad. "Why are you scared?"

"Because one of my friends is standing on the roof and threatening to jump, and I would give anything to make him stop and come down safely. I'd give up six months of my life to know that in a few hours, you'll be safe home in bed. I really would."

Brad stared at her for what felt like the longest moment of her life, then started to sob.

"I want to go home…"

"It's all right, Brad," Amber said reassuringly. "Just come on down. I'll take you home."

After a moment's agonising indecision, Brad took a faltering step back from the edge, and then another, until he was safely out of reach, at which point he flung himself into Amber's arms. Amber hugged him tightly, so relieved that he was safe that she ignored his initial protests about being squeezed.

"Well done, Brad," she told him. "You're going to be all right now. We'll look after you. Come on, let's get you home."

Brad nodded, and he let Amber take him by the arm and escort him down from the roof, down the long flights of badly-carpeted motel stairs and out through the front doors of the motel. There was a ragged cheer from the crowd as they emerged, and Kevin and David hurried over to them.

"Brad, thank God, I thought you weren't coming down alive," said David, deeply relieved.

"Me either," admitted Brad.

"Good to see you back with us, man. You okay now?" said Kevin.

"Yeah, I will be. Thanks, Amber," said Brad. "Joseph was a really lucky guy to have someone like you around. You're the best friend a guy could ever ask for."

"She's a living saint, ain't she?" said Kevin, grinning and grabbing Amber by the shoulder so that he could give her a bear-hug for the benefit of a camera. "Don't know what we'd do without her."

"Panic and throw yourselves off a building?" said Amber. "But never mind that. Brad's safe now. Are you going to be okay at home tonight?" she added, this last question directed to Brad.

Brad nodded.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Good. Well, let's head back," said Amber firmly. "It's high time we clocked off for the night. We'll drop Brad off at his place, go back to the station to sign out, then go collapse at home."


	7. Too Close For Comfort

**7: Too Close For Comfort**

Amber sat back in the police car as it drove off, and watched Fairview's dark and dilapidated streets recede into the distance. Sensibly, David had refused point-blank to let Kevin drive, which meant a smooth ride home. Kevin had been too tired to argue and was now dozing quietly in the front passenger seat.

The junior officer who had tried to talk Brad down from the roof of the motel was sitting in the back, talking animatedly to David. Amber had never met the man before; she'd only ever seen his signature on forms, Bob Kerr, which had brought to mind the kind of average, friendly middle-aged guy who went bowling every Thursday night with his drinking buddies and never, ever missed a Superbowl or World Series game on TV. Instead he turned out to be an enthusiastic young man with a cheap haircut and the kind of youthful energy that made Amber feel very old indeed.

"So did you catch the game last night?" he was saying. "Did you _see _DeBrett score that touchdown? Man, I bet the Rose Bay City side wish they'd put up more money for him now, huh?"

"Yeah," agreed David, from the front seat. "Those cheapskates must be kicking themselves now that we've got him on the team. Still, we're not complaining, right?"

"No way. Best touchdown I've ever seen! We probably would have had another one after that if it hadn't been for Katz and Pulowski from the Roses. They got Pullman at the ten-yard line… man, that sucked."

"Pullman's pretty good," said Kevin, who had woken up from his doze at the mention of sport. "Did you see him take down that guy from the other side? It was kind of like that TV show I saw about wildlife in the Serengeti - you know, the bit when the cheetah takes down a whole zebra with one running jump."

"Pullman's no cheetah," said Bob, chuckling. "Maybe he could run like one if he laid off the doughnuts for a while and worked out some more, got that flab off his sorry ass."

"He's a strong guy, though, and he's got real momentum once he gets going," said Kevin.

"Yeah, but that's _all _he's got," scoffed David. "That big ox ought to be put out to pasture for good so he can make way for the good players."

"I'm thinking maybe they could take Fulton off the reserve bench and put him out for the next game. He's pretty good," said Kevin.

"Fulton?" said Bob in disbelief. "Are you _kidding _me? Did you even _see_ him play at Greenwood Ridge last month? That's the reason why he's on the reserve bench! He's, like, the last resort in case someone gets injured and everyone else on the bench dies in a freak floodlighting accident, and it's either send in Fulton or forfeit the game! Even then, they'd probably rather forfeit."

"No way, the Sharks never forfeit," said Kevin dismissively.

"You didn't see Coach Gregory sobbing on live television," said Bob darkly. "I don't even know why Fulton's still on the team after that disaster."

"Talking of disasters, I haven't seen Hutz around since he broke his collarbone in the Wolverines game," said David. "Is he still on the injured list?"

"Hutz _and_ Canson," confirmed Bob.

"What? Canson too? What the hell happened to _him_?" exclaimed Kevin.

"Just had a knee op," said Bob. "Coach says he'll be out for another three games. He won't be back till at least mid-November."

"Man, no wonder we got our asses kicked last night," said Kevin, shaking his head. "We've had bad luck all year."

"Did you guys ever consider that maybe luck isn't involved, and the real reason why the Roses _always_ kick the Sharks' asses is that they're just better at football?" said Amber, raising an eyebrow.

The three men stared at her in incredulity.

"Are you crazy, woman?" said Bob at last. "Of course not! Just you wait until we've got Hutz and Canson back! With them and DeBrett on the team, we'll win next time for sure!"

"Yeah," said Kevin stoutly. "We can do it! What the hell are you talking about anyway, Amb? You don't even _watch _the football."

"That's because she thinks the Sharks suck," observed David. "But we're doing okay and we'll do better once we get our best players back. And Fielding and Grietz are doing great now that Coach Gregory made them switch. I think Fielding needs to bulk up some more, though."

"Maybe Pullman can give him some of those doughnuts," said Bob, to laughter from David and Kevin.

The conversation gradually turned from sporting matters to more pressing issues, such as which of them still owed David money from the last time they'd gone to J's Bar together after work.

Amber glanced over at Brad, who was still sandwiched between her and Bob; he was staring blankly ahead at the view through the windshield. At first glance he appeared to be perfectly normal - much calmer than anyone who'd just been talked out of committing suicide should have been - but his face was still white and in spite of his brave little smile, there was a look of nervous dread deep in his eyes.

She looked down and saw Brad's hands trembling, then looked up again to see him watching her with wide eyes. The moment her eyes met his, Brad hastily dropped his gaze, a faint flush of pink colouring his pale cheeks.

Amber just smiled kindly and reached over, taking his shaking hands in hers and holding them tight. Brad looked up at her again with a shy, hesitant smile, but still said nothing.

The police car eventually rolled to a halt somewhere near the edge of town. Amber looked out of the window, curious to see where they were now, then started as she saw the one neighbourhood that her mother had always warned her never, ever to live in, no matter how dire her financial circumstances were.

This was the edge of Masefield Park, a particularly nasty low-rent district that even the most hardened veterans of the RPD were reluctant to patrol. Nobody from the precinct went out here without a bulletproof vest and, if possible, full riot gear - and they'd been warned never to go out alone. Parts of downtown could be pretty bad, Amber knew, but even in the rougher neighbourhoods, a cop's badge still carried weight and earned the wearer some grudging respect from the locals.

Here, though, a badge meant nothing and a lone police officer spotted on the streets could well face the prospect of being ambushed, mugged and left for dead. Not by the skaters, of course; there weren't any skaters out here. Even the most foolhardy of the street kids knew well enough to stay away from this part of town. The only gangs here were full-scale criminal operations which had no problem with sinking their teeth into the long arm of the law.

Amber had never been on patrol here before, but she'd heard the stories and had decided that her mother had been right to warn her away; by the sound of it, patrolling crime-ridden Masefield Park made a beat on Fairview look like a week in the Bahamas.

Brad apparently had the dubious privilege of living in the same street as a pawn shop, an adult video store, a boarded-up video arcade, two bars and a seedy-looking strip club, as well as the kind of neighbours who left their lights on all night and would probably blow your head off with an unlicensed shotgun if you asked them to turn their music down. Amber couldn't believe her eyes. What the hell was Brad _doing_, living in a place like this?

"Guess this is my stop," said Brad, with an apologetic little smile. "Thanks for the ride home, guys."

"Sure thing," said David amiably. "Come on, we weren't exactly gonna make you walk home by yourself. It's not safe out here, especially at night. You should really think about getting yourself a place closer to the precinct, bro. This place is a dump."

"I've got the money for it," said Brad. "I'm just saving it for a rainy day."

"Yeah?" said David, looking amused. "Well, out here it's pissing down every damn day of the week. How long have you been saving, anyhow? You've probably got yourself enough for a house in uptown by now."

"Not on my salary," said Brad, with a sigh. "Still, there's an apartment down in Brentford that I've been looking at. I might just be able to afford the rent if I cut down on my grocery bill and start walking to work."

"Brentford? That's a nice spot, Brad," said Amber, raising her eyebrows. "If I were you, I'd go for it."

"Same here," agreed Kevin. "Get yourself up on the property ladder and out of this crummy neighbourhood, so we don't have to keep worrying about you."

"Maybe," said Brad, with some reluctance. "But you know, in a weird kind of way, I'm used to this place now. At least if you pay your protection money, you can keep a car out on the street and know it'll still have a radio in the morning. That's more than you can say for a lot of places in this town."

"Vickers of the world, unite," said Kevin sarcastically. "You have nothing to lose but your dignity, and your wheels, and your wallet, and eight pints of blood when someone stabs you and leaves your sorry ass in the gutter to die because they don't think you handed over your cellphone fast enough. Stop being such a cheap bastard and get out of this lousy place before they kill you."

"I'll think about it," Brad said cautiously. "But I've got to be careful. They're watching me and they know where I live. If I move, they'll know all about it, and I don't want them following me."

"The scum who live here? Nah, they won't follow you," said Kevin breezily. "It's too far away from their turf and they like working from home. They get pretty nervous when they're out of their territory, and they know the people in Brentford won't put up with any of their bullshit, either."

"No, I'm not talking about them," said Brad, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "They don't care once you're out of the neighbourhood, as long as you don't come back. I meant the company. They're after me, I know it."

"What company?" said Kevin, frowning.

"Umb- " Brad began, but with great presence of mind, Amber slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish what he was saying.

"Don't be silly, Brad," she told him loudly. "Look at you, you're talking crazy talk now, you're so tired. Come on, you've had a rough day. Go on home and get some sleep."

She gave him a meaningful look until he finally got the message and nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks again, guys. I'll see you round."

"Sure thing," said Kevin. "Night, Brad. And say hello to Tansy at the strip club for me, yeah?" he added, with a wink.

Brad went bright red.

"Sure," he mumbled. "Night, guys."

"Night, Brad," said Bob, with a wave.

"Yeah, goodnight," said David. "Look after yourself, buddy. It's a jungle out there."

Amber opened the car door and shuffled out so that Brad could get out. She stood up, breathing in the night air gratefully, then quickly surveyed her immediate surroundings. Aside from a homeless guy who'd apparently passed out outside one of the bars, there didn't seem to be anyone out tonight. No need to panic, at least not for the moment.

Brad climbed out of the car and closed the door behind him.

"It's not like I've even _been _inside a strip club," he said fretfully. "I wouldn't know who Tansy was if she was leading a nude conga line in my direction."

"Innocence is a wonderful thing," said Amber, trying to hide a smile. "You hang onto that, Brad. It's a precious commodity and it's hard to come by nowadays."

"I've been holding onto it for the past three decades," admitted Brad. "I'm just waiting for someone to say "It's okay, Brad, you can let go now"."

Amber laughed.

"I wouldn't worry about it," she said. "I don't think Kevin knows anybody called Tansy, and even if he did, I doubt he'd go all the way across town to this hellhole just to see her. I think he was just teasing you."

"That's good," said Brad, looking relieved. "I saw a woman in a sequinned bikini go in the side door of that place once and she must have been as old as my mother. To tell you the truth, I'd rather save the money and buy a new video game instead. The US version of _Bubonic the Hedgehog_ is coming out next week and I know the cheats you can use to play as Rabies the Squirrel. And if you beat Dr Pneumonik seventeen times in a row, you get a special bonus level where you - "

He stopped talking when he noticed Amber's vacant expression.

"Oh yeah," he said quickly. "You don't play video games."

"Nope," said Amber simply. "I can't play those things to save my life. Joseph rented _Doom Raider_ once and I got lost on the first level. Then the stupid woman got eaten by a velociraptor and I threw the controller at the TV. Joseph had to spend twenty minutes afterwards reminding me it was just a game and nothing to get angry about."

Brad burst out laughing.

"It's _Tomb Raider_, Amber, not _Doom Raider_," he said.

"Like it really matters," said Amber, shrugging off the correction. "Whatever it's called, I'm not playing it again if it means getting lost or eaten every five seconds, or falling off cliffs every time you try to move around."

"I know what you mean. Falling into big pits of spikes all the time gets old. But anyway, I'd better get going," said Brad. "It's getting late and you guys probably want to go home now."

"Are you really sure you'll be okay tonight?" said Amber.

"I'll be okay," Brad promised.

"Promise me you're not just saying that to sound brave?" said Amber severely.

"Since when have I ever been brave?" said Brad, and looked so miserable that Amber felt ashamed of herself for making the comment.

"You'd be surprised," she said kindly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You're braver than you think, Brad. But if you're having trouble and you need to call me, then you _will _call me like you said you would, right?"

"I will," said Brad. "And I meant what I said earlier, you know. You really are a great friend. I don't think anybody else would have cared enough to go up there and beg me to come down like that."

"Oh, Brad, that's not true," said Amber gently. "The only reason none of the others tried to go up and talk to you was because they thought you'd jump if they did."

"I probably would have," confessed Brad. "But I didn't want you to think it was your fault that I jumped, so I stayed to hear what you had to say. And when you said what you did, I changed my mind. You saved me, Amber."

"Hey, that's what friends are for, right?" said Amber.

She hugged him tightly.

"You take care of yourself, Brad," she told him. "Give me a call tomorrow so I know you're all right, okay?"

"I will," said Brad, turning to leave. "Night, Amber."

"Goodnight," said Amber.

She watched Brad until he'd gone into the dilapidated apartment building that he called home. When an upstairs light came on, she decided that her duty was done and that it was definitely time to go home.

Amber turned around and was about to get into the police car when somebody grabbed her shoulders from behind.

"Agh!" she shrieked.

"Uhhh…" groaned the man behind her as he tried to put his arms around her, but Amber pushed him away and he fell backwards onto the sidewalk. Panting, she stared at her assailant - not, thankfully, the ravenous blood-covered zombie from the darker recesses of her imagination, but a dishevelled hobo in tattered old clothes, reeking of alcohol and still clutching a bottle of cheap vodka in one hand.

"Amber! Are you okay?" called David, getting out of the car and rushing over to her. "Did that crazy drunk hurt you? If he did, I'm taking him down to the station right now! I've had enough of the scum around here thinking they can assault a police officer! And that protection money bullshit's going to stop too! These crooks think they can scare money out of one of our boys? Well, they thought wrong! From now on we start coming down on these scumbags hard, so we can get this place cleaned up! I'm going to see the Chief about it tomorrow morning, I swear… are you all right?"

"I'm fine," said Amber, still gulping in the night air to try and slow her pounding heart as David ushered her back into the safety of the police car.

"Come on, let's get out of here," said David, climbing into the driver's seat. He slammed the door and pressed down on the central locking mechanism again; all four of the car's occupants visibly relaxed at the sound of the doors being locked. "This place gives me the creeps."

They drove off at a speed that Kevin would have thoroughly approved of. Amber kept looking nervously out of the rear window until Masefield Park was well out of sight, and didn't turn round to face the front until much later, when they emerged from a side-street and found themselves in a friendlier neighbourhood.

Meanwhile, outside Brad's apartment, the drunken hobo struggled to his feet. Thinking was so hard through the haze of alcohol - but at least it numbed the pain in his arm, he thought to himself, gripping the bottle of vodka by the neck as he crossed the street on unsteady feet.

As he staggered towards the strip club, fumbling in his filthy pocket for the change that well-meaning strangers had dropped at his feet some hours previously, he paused for a moment.

"Itchy… so damn _itchy_…"

He scratched furiously at his arm, hardly even noticing the sound of breaking glass as the vodka bottle fell from his fingers and smashed in the gutter. After scratching the wound so hard that it bled, he carried on towards the strip club, leaving behind a pool of vodka and broken glass in the gutter, and a few spots of blood that were already drying on the sidewalk.

"Itchy…"

xxxxxxxxxx

**Sunday 9th August, 1998**

A dozen pairs of inquisitive eyes looked up from their work as Amber came into the west office. The ever-present background murmur of conversation grew a little louder; there were even one or two half-hearted cheers, although these quickly died away when it became clear that nobody else was going to join in.

"Well hey, look who it is! It's the hero of the hour," said Marvin warmly, coming out of the side office to greet her. In one hand he held a fresh copy of the _Raccoon Times_; in the other, a steaming cup of black coffee that Amber would happily have traded for a week's wages.

"I'm no hero," said Amber wearily, collapsing into a chair and rubbing her tired eyes. "I'm an ordinary officer who stayed up _way _too late doing her job last night and seriously needs coffee._"_

"Got you covered, Amber," said Marvin straight away, and put the cup of coffee on Amber's desk.

Amber's face immediately brightened.

"Marvin, you're an angel," she said with sincerity, picking up the cup from her desk and taking an experimental sip. "God, that's good stuff. Why'd they kick you out of Heaven anyway? Make all the other angels look bad?"

"Oh," said Marvin, and his eyebrows shot up. "That reminds me, these came for you about ten minutes ago…"

He darted into the side-office and reappeared a second later with an enormous bouquet of flowers. They were mostly roses; deep blood-coloured ones, mixed in with a few sprays of little white flowers, all wrapped up in clear cellophane and red ribbons.

"They're beautiful," exclaimed Amber, taking the flowers and resting them carefully on her desk. "Who sent them?"

"No idea who they're from, but they look expensive," commented Marvin. "Tim brought them in with him saying someone had left them for you at the reception desk out front."

"Don't ask me who they're from, either," called Tim, from a desk on the other side of the room. "I did my best to find out from Bernice and the girls, but they wouldn't tell me anything and then they started giggling. I guess you've got a secret admirer or something."

"A secret admirer?" said Amber to herself, and picked up the bouquet again. Frowning, she turned it over until, amid the many folds of cellophane, she found a small card attached to the bouquet. On it, someone had written in an unfamiliar hand:

_To a guardian angel and true friend, with love and gratitude._

"What does it say?" said Marvin curiously, leaning over her shoulder to read the card.

Amber repeated the words out loud. Marvin looked puzzled for a moment, then shook his head.

"Nope. Not a clue. I don't recognise the handwriting, either. Think it might be something to do with last night?"

"Could be," said Amber, who had been wondering the same thing herself.

"Oh well. I'm sure you'll find out," said Marvin, picking up a large stack of files from another desk. "I've got some stuff to take care of, Amber, so keep an eye on the office for me. Let me know if you ever find out who the flowers are from."

"Will do, Marv. Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem. I'll see you later."

Amber propped up the bouquet against the side of her desk as Marvin left the room, bent almost double under the weight of the files he was carrying. They really were beautiful flowers, she thought; whoever had sent them had clearly spent a lot of money on this bouquet.

The morning's work consisted of nothing very much. There were some minor incident reports to go over, some paperwork to be signed and a few documents to be copied and faxed to the Street Crime department. It was fairly routine work, nothing too taxing, and Amber found herself settling easily into the pattern of reading, writing and signing. It was probably the most normal day that she'd had since Joseph's death.

The morning progressed and other officers brought more work to Amber's desk. She was soon so immersed in reports that she barely even noticed the phone ringing, or the sound of Tim's chair scraping back as he got up to answer it. It was only when she felt a sharp prod in the back that she realised that Tim was standing beside her, with the phone in his hand.

"Call for you, Amber," he said.

"For me?" said Amber. "Who is it?"

"Reception," Tim replied, handing her the phone. "You'd better talk to them."

Amber waited until he'd gone, then lifted the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said.

"_Hi Amber, it__'__s Bernice_," came the answering voice.

"Hi, Bernice," said Amber. "What's up?"

"_Busy as usual. You know how it is__…__ anyhow, you__'__ve got a visitor waiting for you out here. I don__'__t know if you were expecting him, but he says he really wants to speak to you. He says it__'__s important._"

"Let me guess," said Amber thoughtfully. "It's Brad Vickers, right?"

"_Uh-huh. Do you want to see him, or shall I tell him you__'__re busy?_"

"No, it's okay. I was kind of expecting him to show up today. Tell him I'll be right out."

"_Okay._"

Bernice hung up. With a heavy sigh, Amber got to her feet and put the phone back. She wasn't really in the mood for talking to Brad about last night - she was too tired - but she'd promised to be there for him whenever he needed to talk to her, and she wasn't about to go back on her word.

"Tim," she called out. "Can you take care of things here for a minute? I've got someone waiting to see me in Reception and apparently it's important. If Marvin comes back, tell him where I've gone, okay?"

"Will do," said Tim, with a curt nod.

Amber hurried out of the room and into the foyer. As usual, it was the one place in the building that was cold in spite of the summer heat. Two of the secretaries, still wearing thin blouses and short skirts despite their better judgment, looked almost blue with cold. Bernice, however, had had the foresight to bring a light sweater with her today; she was the only one of the three who looked comfortable with the temperature.

"Hi, Amber," she said cheerfully. "Thanks for showing up. I know how busy you guys are."

"That's all right. Where's Brad?"

"He's over by the steps."

"Thanks."

Brad was standing by the steps near the front entrance. His back was turned to Amber, but when he heard Amber's footsteps behind him, he turned around to face her.

"Hey Amber," he said shyly. "I'm sorry to bother you. I know you're busy and you probably don't have much time to spare…"

"Brad, it's okay," Amber interrupted him. "I always have time for my friends, you know that. I don't have much to do this morning anyway. What's on your mind?"

Brad looked around quickly.

"Can we go somewhere more private?" he said, in a low but urgent tone of voice.

"Why - " began Amber, but then she noticed the three secretaries watching them with interest from the reception desk, as if hoping to overhear some juicy gossip. "Oh… yeah, of course. You want to go outside to talk?"

Brad nodded. "Outside sounds good."

To the secretaries' profound disappointment, Amber and Brad went outside to continue their conversation; Amber saw their faces falling even as the door swung shut behind her.

_Sorry, ladies,_ she thought. _I know you like your gossip, but some things are important - and private. Maybe some other time__…_

Brad indicated that they should go across the yard and down into the underpass beneath the front steps of the building. Amber followed him, wondering what was so important that he wanted to go and sit in a dank brick tunnel underneath the yard to find enough privacy to talk.

"It's too hot to be out in the sun," Brad explained along the way. "At least it's nice and cool in the underpass. Nobody ever goes down there, either, so it's fairly private. I always used to sit down there whenever I wanted some time to myself."

"Really now?" said Amber, intrigued by this idea. "That's not such a bad idea, Brad. I might try that myself once in a while."

"Yeah, I used to go there during my lunch break so nobody would bother me," Brad confided. "Of course, I'd get yelled at later if they needed me for something, because nobody would ever think of looking for me down there. But it was worth it for a moment's peace."

They sat down on the steps. Amber tried to ignore the cool, clammy air and the discomfort of sitting on a concrete step, and waited for Brad to talk.

"Um… did you like the flowers?" he began, looking slightly embarrassed.

"You sent those?" said Amber in amazement. "Oh, Brad, you shouldn't have… but don't tell me you came all the way here just to ask me that?"

"No! No, of course not," said Brad hurriedly. "I just wanted to know if they're okay. They _are _okay, aren't they? I mean, you're not allergic to them, or afraid of the colour red or anything like that, right? Because if you don't like them, I can get you something else instead, it's really no problem, I'll give them to my mom because she likes flowers, I buy them for her every time I go to visit and - "

"Calm down, Brad," Amber told him, cutting him off mid-babble. "There's nothing wrong with them; I think they're beautiful. It was sweet of you to send them. You really didn't have to do that."

"But I wanted to," said Brad timidly. "I wanted to say thank you for what you did last night. You've always been a good friend to me and you're really kind, and I wanted to show you how much that meant to me, and - and what you mean to me."

Amber was about to smile and thank him when her brain finally registered the last few words.

_Wait a minute__…__ what was that supposed to mean?_

Brad was looking at her expectantly, and Amber realised that she'd forgotten to respond to him.

"Uh, you're welcome, Brad," she said quickly. "So, what did you want to talk to me about? You said it was important."

"Probably not important to you," said Brad, and he lowered his eyes. "But after what happened last night, I figured I should tell you while I've still got the chance."

"Tell me what?" said Amber.

An expression of real pain crossed Brad's face as he underwent some kind of inner struggle, but after a moment he finally managed to blurt out:

"I like you, Amber."

"I like you too, Brad," said Amber, smiling. "I think you're a very sweet guy."

"I - I mean you're smart, and pretty, and kind, and you're brave… you're all the things I'm not and you still talk to me, even though I'm a total loser," said Brad nervously. "And I know you'll probably never like me that way, but I just want you to know that I really like you. I've always liked you, ever since you first joined the force, but you loved Joseph and I didn't want to say anything, because you were both my friends and I knew how much you cared about each other, and I… well, I just wanted you to be happy…"

He stopped, blushing, and looked down at his feet as Amber's mouth opened in shock.

"Brad, I - " she stopped, and tried again. "I - I never thought that - why are you telling me this?"

"I wasn't going to tell you," said Brad unhappily. "I didn't want to upset you, or make you want to stop being my friend. It's just that - well, after last night I kind of realised that I might not have long to live, and I thought I might never get the chance to tell you again. And I know you'd never be interested in a guy like me, especially right now, but you're really nice and I wanted to tell you how much I care about you."

Amber felt her cheeks burning. This, however, was nothing compared to how Brad must have been feeling; his face was buried in his hands to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have told you. I knew this would happen. You'd feel awkward and upset because you don't feel the same way about me, and I'd just end up looking like an idiot. I'm really sorry. I understand if you don't want to talk to me any more. I'll leave you alone now."

He got up to leave, but Amber grabbed him by the arm.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute," she said. "I never said I didn't want to be your friend any more. Whatever gave you that impression?"

Brad sat down beside her again, and sighed deeply.

"I've made you feel bad because you don't feel the same about me," he said sadly. "I've messed up a good friendship and made you feel uncomfortable about being around me now that I've told you how I feel. I knew I shouldn't have said anything."

"Oh, Brad, don't be silly," said Amber. "I don't feel uncomfortable about being around you. I'm just sad about having to break a good friend's heart right in front of them."

"Really?" said Brad. "You don't hate me for screwing up?"

"No, of course not."

"So we're still friends?"

"Of course."

"But you don't ever want to be my girlfriend, right?"

Amber bit her lip.

"Brad," she said uncomfortably, "please don't get me wrong. You're a nice guy and everything, but I just lost Joseph and it's - it's just way too soon to even start thinking about another relationship. And to be honest, I never even thought about you as a possible boyfriend. As far as I knew, we were just friends and that was it."

Brad looked bitterly disappointed.

"But you know," added Amber, putting a hand on his arm to console him, "that doesn't always have to be the way things are. Maybe one day it'll be different. You never know how things are going to work out. Hell, ten years from now we could be married with seven kids."

"God moves in mysterious ways, sure," said Brad, and he started to grin. "But I don't think even divine intervention could persuade me to have kids. I had to look after my cousin's kids for an afternoon once and by the time she came home, they were running around destroying the house and I was sitting in the corner in the foetal position, whimpering and sucking my thumb."

Amber laughed.

"Too bad," she said. "I love kids. I always said if I couldn't be a cop, then I'd probably be a nanny or a kindergarten teacher."

"Yeah," said Brad, almost wistfully. "I think you'd be good at that."

Amber looked down at her watch.

"Brad, I'd better go," she told him urgently. "Tim and Marvin are probably wondering where I am."

"Wait," said Brad, and he stood up as Amber got up to leave. "Amber, I know you're probably going to say no, but I was wondering… they're showing _Biohazard 4 _at the movie theatre tonight and I've been waiting to see it for months. Do you want to come with me? Not on a date or anything like that," he added, as Amber opened her mouth to object. "I could just do with the company right now, you know? And I might need someone to hold my hand. I heard it's scary and, well, my mom doesn't like horror movies…"

Amber smiled suddenly.

"Hell, why not?" she said. "I could do with some company too. And it's been ages since I last went to the movies. Sure, I'll come along if you buy the popcorn."

Brad beamed.

"Great!" he said excitedly. "When do you get off work tonight?"

"Around eight," said Amber. "Though I can probably get off a little early tonight after the overtime I did last night. Meet you there? My car broke down this morning, so I had to take the bus and you know how _that _takes forever, but I can probably get David to drop me off - or Tim, he's been working days lately to cover for one of the other guys. I'm sure he won't mind."

"Okay then," said Brad. "I'll meet you there. I'll let you get back to work now."

"All right. Take care of yourself, Brad."

"I will. Catch you later."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Where the hell have you _been, _Amb?" said Tim, as she went back into the office. "Marv and I thought you'd fallen down a hole or something! Some of the other guys were taking bets on whether you were coming back at all!"

"Yeah, I lost ten bucks because of you!" she heard Fulham shout from the far end of the room.

"Serves you right," Tim retorted. "I told you she'd come back eventually."

"The key word being _eventually_…" added Marvin, grinning.

"Sorry, guys, that took a lot longer than expected," said Amber, slumping back into her chair. "Did I miss much?"

"Nah, not really. We were just kidding. Don't worry about it."

As she returned to her work, she noticed that the flowers had been unwrapped from their cellophane and were now in a small glass vase on her desk.

"Yeah," said Marvin, on seeing her puzzled expression. "I figured they needed some water. They'd be dead by the time you got them home otherwise, especially in this heat. Dave Ford had some of that liquid plant food stuff in the darkroom cupboard too, so I put a little of that in as well."

"Plant food? What the hell is that doing in the darkroom?" said Tim.

"Oh, he has some sort of weird method for getting rid of red-eye in photographs, or something like that, and apparently plant food's a key component. God only knows how you can get rid of red-eye with plant food, but _he _says it works, and I'm not about to argue," said Marvin, with a shrug.

"I know I've never seen red-eye in any of Dave's photographs, so I guess he must be on to something," said Tim. "I'll have to ask him how he does it."

"He won't tell you, Tim," said Marvin, smiling and shaking his head. "You know how Dave is. Paranoid and secretive. He thinks the darkroom is his own personal space and he gets kind of edgy if he thinks you're trying to muscle in on it. If he gets mad at you just for being in the room, then there's no way he'll share any of his methods with you."

"Why's that guy so twitchy anyway? Okay, so I caught him with that bottle of whiskey at work, but it's not like I'm going to tell anybody," said Tim dismissively. "Come on, if I didn't snitch on George Scott for gluing me to a toilet, then I'm not gonna shop Dave Ford for knocking back cheap Scotch on the night shift, am I? Especially not the same night his father died all those years back."

"His father died?" said Marvin, who looked startled by this news. "What happened to him?"

"He was killed in a hit and run incident, on the way home from a night out with some old college friends. Dave never really got over it. Every year on that night, he has a bottle of Scotch to himself. He says his dad always loved Scotch, so I guess it's his way of remembering him," said Tim.

"That's really sad," said Marvin. "I had no idea."

"He doesn't really want it spread around," said Tim. "So don't go telling everybody, okay?"

"Well you just told the whole office, so why not everybody?" Amber cut in. "You two gossip like a pair of old ladies. You're even worse than my mom's friends."

"She's got us there, huh, Tim?" said Marvin, laughing. "Still, we've got nothing on you and Jill, Amber. You two probably talk more than everyone else in the county put together."

"Yeah," said Tim. "Put them in the same room and they won't shut up for weeks. Oh, Amber, she came in asking where you were earlier. I forgot to tell you."

"Why? What did she want?" said Amber.

"I have no idea, but she wanted to speak to you, so you'd better go and find her," said Tim. "Try not to spend _all _day up there, though, Amb…" he called after her as she hurried out of the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

The traditional box of doughnuts had become much smaller lately, Amber noticed. Not that it was really surprising, since the number of STARS members had more than halved, but nevertheless it served as a grim reminder of lost loved ones and happier times.

_Joseph always liked the sugar doughnuts best,_ thought Amber, gazing sadly at the open box. _I really hope there are sugar doughnuts in Heaven. Lots and lots of them, since he__'__s going to spend all eternity there. Eternity__'__s a heck of a long time, after all__…_

A hand reached past her face and dipped into the box.

"Don't mind me, Amber," said a friendly voice. "Just looking to see what Kenny's brought up for us today…"

"I thought you were meant to be on a diet, Barry?" said Amber archly.

"Well, that's the idea," said Barry, with a chuckle. "Don't tell my wife, but I've actually come up with a whole new diet plan of my own."

"Oh really?" came Jill's voice from across the room. "And what's it called? "The Never Say Diet"?"

Barry just laughed.

"Nope. I call it the "Doughnut Bother Diet"," he told her.

"Why do you call it that?" said Rebecca curiously, looking up from her work.

"Because I "doughnut" bother keeping it up for more than a week," said Barry, laughing at his own terrible pun.

Rebecca looked blank for a moment, then her face cleared.

"Oh! I get it!" she exclaimed, and broke into a fit of giggles at her desk.

"Oh, Barry, that's _terrible_," groaned Jill, but she still couldn't keep herself from smiling.

"I'll stop joking when you stop smiling," said Barry, with a broad grin.

"Seriously, Barry," said Jill, making an attempt at a straight face. "You should at least try to stick to a diet. Amanda's right, losing five pounds would make such a big difference."

"I know," said Barry, casting a look of regret at the box of doughnuts. "But I never could resist a good doughnut."

He reached into it and brought out a plump chocolate-topped doughnut.

"There's nothing like a good Bavarian Creme," he said with immense satisfaction, and bit into it.

Satisfaction instantly turned into disgust.

"What? What _is_ this?" he said, coughing.

"Um… I think it's lemon, Barry," said Rebecca meekly. "That was one of mine."

"Chocolate-covered _and _lemon-filled? That's just gross," said Barry. "Sorry, Rebecca, it looked like the kind I usually get. Do you want the rest?"

"Maybe you should go back to five minutes ago and ask me _before _you bit into it," said Rebecca dryly. "Sorry, Barry, but I'm not going to eat it now that your drool's on it. That really is gross. You might as well finish it."

"Please yourself," said Barry, shrugging, and finished the cake in three bites.

"I thought you said it was gross," said an amused Jill.

"Not bad, actually," Barry mused aloud. "A little lemony. Needs chocolate sprinkles and different colour icing, but I think it could grow on me."

"There's plenty growing on you already," Jill retorted. "We're going to have to get you a bigger chair if you keep this up, Barry. You need to start on that diet, pronto."

"You girls and your diets," sighed Barry. "All right, starting today. After I've finished my doughnuts. But right now, since there's nothing like a good Bavarian Creme and that was _nothing _like a good Bavarian Creme, I'm going to find out which one _is_ like a good Bavarian Creme…"

"You owe Rebecca a doughnut, too, since you just ate one of hers," Jill reminded him.

"That's okay, Jill," said Rebecca. "Just leave me the maple iced one in the middle, Barry, that'll be fine."

She and Jill returned to their work as Barry rooted through the box of doughnuts in search of the elusive Bavarian Cremes.

"Cinammon? Why the hell did Kenny get two cinnamon doughnuts? He knows Brad's not around any more, doesn't he?" they heard him say.

"Maybe he just forgot, Barry," said Jill gently. "He's only a kid, remember. He does his best, and usually he gets it just right. And he's been a little distracted since that dog attack. Cut him some slack."

"Yeah, you're right," said Barry. "Never mind. We can always bring them round to his place after work. After last night he'd probably appreciate a visit, don't you think?"

"I couldn't agree more," said Jill. "That reminds me - Amber, that's why I asked you to come up and see us. I just wanted to say thank you from all of us, for looking after Brad last night. He called me this morning and told me all about what happened. You saved his life."

"Oh," said Amber. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. He sent me a big bunch of flowers and he even came to see me this morning, to ask if I wanted to go to the movies with him tonight."

"_Brad _asked you out on a _date_?" said Rebecca, giggling. "Seriously?"

"Aww," said Jill, smiling. "That's really sweet. What did you say to him?"

"I told him I'd go, but it's definitely not a date," Amber said firmly. "It's only been two weeks since - well, since Joseph died, and it'll be a long, long time before I even start thinking about a new relationship. I don't think I even want to have another boyfriend. Nobody could ever replace Joseph, and I wouldn't want anyone to try. There's no way I could love anyone else as much as I loved him."

"I know," said Jill sympathetically. "And I think Brad does too. He's liked you for years but he's been too shy to say anything. He knew how much you and Joseph meant to each other, and I think he respects that. He probably wouldn't even have said anything about it, but he sounded pretty emotional on the phone this morning."

"To be honest, Amber, I think he just needs a friend to talk to and some distraction from real life," said Barry. "This Umbrella stuff's really been getting him down lately. It'll do him good to get out of his apartment and have some fun for a change. Probably won't hurt you either. You've been working really hard."

"Yeah," agreed Amber. "Still, you guys are worth it."

"Oh, and thanks for talking to Chris yesterday," said Jill suddenly. "I think this time he's actually started listening."

It struck Amber for the first time that Chris wasn't in the room. There was no jacket hanging off the back of his chair, and the double chocolate doughnuts in the box - Chris' usual choice - remained untouched.

"Where is he, anyway?" she said, looking around.

"Taking the day off," said Jill, reaching into the box for a raspberry-filled doughnut - her own personal favourite. "I saw him holed up in a diner this morning with a big plate of bacon, hash browns and eggs over easy, poring over a bunch of paperwork. He looked kind of sad, now that I think about it. But at least he's eating properly now. I'll give him a call tonight to make sure he's all right."

"You do that," said Amber. "Anything else you guys wanted, or was that it?"

"No, not really, but we asked Kenny to get you a little something while he was fetching doughnuts," said Barry.

He took two doughnuts out of the box and, handling them reverently as though they were holy relics, passed them to Amber.

"There you go, kiddo. Custard-filled, and topped with chocolate syrup and almonds. Hope you like 'em."

"Oh, I love these," said Amber, delighted. "Thanks, guys, that was sweet of you."

"Don't mention it," said Barry casually. "Well, you'd better get back to work now. We've probably kept you too long already. Catch you later."

Amber nodded, and opened the door as best she could with sticky fingers. Out in the corridor, she wolfed down one of the doughnuts to free up at least one hand, licked her fingers clean, and shut the door behind her again.

"Bernstein!"

Amber's head shot up in alarm; the other doughnut tumbled from her hands and landed on the wooden floor with a sad little squelch. Standing in front of her, slowly turning crimson with anger, was Chief Irons.

"Sir, I - !" she stammered, desperately searching for an excuse. "I - the STARS told me - they just wanted to speak to me about - about last night, about what happened with Vickers in downtown and - and they just wanted t-to say thank you for s-saving him, sir…"

The excuse trailed away into oblivion, and Amber cringed as the man's face darkened with anger. It didn't look as though her explanation had done any good. If anything, it had had quite the opposite effect; he looked as though he was about to explode.

"Get back downstairs _this instant_!" said the Chief, quivering all over with apopletic rage. "Or so help me, you'll never work in law enforcement again! You've been warned, Bernstein! Downstairs, _now_!"

Amber was so terrified that she almost fell over her own feet in her haste to run away. The Chief watched her go, still shaking with fury, then looked down at the oozing doughnut on the floor. He seemed to calm down slightly at the sight of the stricken cake.

After contemplating it for a second or two, he bent down, scooped it up in his pudgy hands and carried it away with him, cramming the sticky mess of syrup, cream and squashed cake greedily into his mouth as he strutted away down the corridor.


	8. A Date With Destiny

**8: A Date With Destiny**

Getting a ride home proved to be much more difficult than Amber had anticipated.

"No can do, I'm afraid," Tim had told her apologetically. "I'd love to help but I'm still covering for Bernie, which means I'm stuck with _his _shift till ten and then it's straight into mine, so I won't be clocking off till tomorrow morning."

David McGraw hadn't been available either:

"Sorry, Amber, my car's in for repairs too. I'm carpooling with Bob and two other guys until I can get it back from the dealership. They told me they're still waiting for parts. That damn car spends more time in the garage than it does on the road, I swear…"

Jill and Barry would be working late again tonight, Rebecca was still learning to drive, and Amber had no idea where Chris might be - not that she would have asked her best friend's ex to drive her home anyway, she reminded herself.

With no possibility of a ride home and having just missed the bus, Amber opted instead to walk to the subway with Marvin.

"So I get off at Winterton, right?" she said, as they walked down the subway station's concrete steps and into the maze of tunnels that ran deep beneath the city, from uptown's leafy suburbs to downtown's brownstone apartments and business districts, through the industrial heartland, round the outer fringes of Raccoon City and then right back into the heart of the city again.

"Yeah, that's right," said Marvin, and his voice echoed off the tiled walls of the corridor. "We're on the Green Line, and the last stop's Winterton. After that, you'll have to take the Red Line past Coburg, then get off and change again at Haines for the Blue Line, and your stop should be St James East."

Amber mulled this over as they came to a stop on the subway platform. There were several people milling around on the artificially-lit platform, but not as many as she'd expected. Her few memories of the subway had been as a busy place, with packed platforms and cramped trains that had been a veritable forest of legs to a small girl of six. She'd hated it then and wasn't sure that she liked it much even now; she kept getting the feeling that at any moment, the lights would go out and the whole tunnel would be plunged into utter darkness.

"St James East," she repeated slowly. "Got it. I think. You _did_ say the Blue Line, right?"

"I take it you don't take the subway very often," said Marvin, smiling.

"Well, no," said Amber. "Joseph and I shared a car, so I never had to. And to tell you the truth, Marv, I don't like being underground very much. I get disorientated and I don't like being lost in my own hometown."

"Fair enough," said Marvin reasonably. "Me, I love the subway. Rushing underneath the city in the dark and going places real fast when everyone else is getting stuck in traffic a few feet above you is pretty cool, don't you think? And you have to admit, it beats walking."

"I like walking."

"All the way to your place to change and then back to the movie theatre?"

"Maybe not _that_ much."

"Exactly. Don't tell me you'd rather take the bus than the subway."

"I don't feel lost on the bus. I always know where I am, because I can look out of the window and see the city. Underground, you could be going _anywhere_."

"You worry too much, Amb. Hey, it's not like there's monsters underground, right?"

Amber shuddered at this thought. Who knew what was lurking down here, this far beneath the city? If the T-Virus was in Raccoon City then it could have turned animals into monsters by now, just like the kind Jill and the others had told her about. What kind of animals did you get underground?

_Worms. Moles. Rabbits - okay, maybe not moles and rabbits, at least not in this part of the city. But you do get insects. Yeah, bugs. Cockroaches. Bats sometimes, because they hang out in underground caves and stuff. Rats. Mice. Spiders -_

Amber tried very hard not to think about T-Virus-infected spiders.

"Hey, I was only kidding, Amber," said Marvin, laughing. "No need to look so scared. What are you afraid of? Think the boogeyman's gonna get you?"

"No," said Amber, shaking herself. She hadn't even realised that she'd looked scared. "No, it's all right. Just thinking about spiders."

"Spiders? What about them?"

"I'm terrified of them."

"Really? Well, I don't think there are many spiders all the way down here. And even if there are, don't worry, I won't let them eat you," Marvin joked.

Amber shuddered again.

"Ugh. Don't," she said.

"Sorry," said Marvin. "Oh, hey, sounds like our train's up next."

A loud rushing sound confirmed this; the rushing sound quickly grew louder, and then the subway train shot out of the tunnel with a roar. For a moment Amber thought that it wasn't going to stop and would keep on shooting past, but the graffiti-covered train eventually ground to a halt with a squeal of ancient brakes.

The doors opened and a handful of people stepped out of the train, chatting easily amongst themselves. Those already on the platform moved forward expectantly and, once the other people were safely out of the way, attempted to board the train all at once.

"Hey, hey, take it easy there, buddy," warned Marvin, as a heavily-built black man pushed ahead of everyone else, and he pulled the man out of the way so that a wizened, frail-looking Indian woman in a bright magenta sari could board the train before him. "Let the old lady go first, huh?"

The man was possibly the biggest person that Amber had seen in her life. He was tall, thick-set, jarringly bald and probably as strong as a bear; most of the bulk under his thick coat appeared to be muscle. When he turned round slowly to look at them, Amber anticipated trouble - that was, until she saw the man's face break into a beaming smile.

"Hey, Amber," he said warmly, and the heavily-lined, bearded face was suddenly about as intimidating as that of a week-old puppy.

Amber squealed with delight.

"Mark!" she cried, and hugged the man as best she could - he was so large that her arms couldn't possibly go right around him.

"Good to see you again, kid," said Mark, hugging her back, and Amber coughed as she felt the air being squeezed right out of her lungs. "How's life?"

"Not good at all," said Amber, her smile disappearing. "You heard about Joseph?"

Mark nodded.

"Yeah," he said sadly. "His dad told me a few days ago. Poor guy hasn't been right since it happened. He's still all torn-up about it. How are you holding up?"

"Not great, but doing the best I can to carry on," said Amber, sighing. "I know he wouldn't have wanted me to just sit around at home and cry all the time, but it can get really hard. I just want to give up sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah. I know the feeling. I lost a _lot _of buddies back in 'Nam. Joe's dad and I were lucky to make it back, I know that, but sometimes we wondered if maybe those poor dead kids were the lucky ones. War's hell, Amber, and don't let nobody tell you any different."

He paused.

"So who's your friend?" he said, peering down at Marvin.

"Oh - sorry, Mark, this is Marvin Branagh," said Amber hastily. "We work together down at the precinct. Marv, this is an old friend of mine, Mark Wilkins. He's best friends with Joseph's dad, that's how I got to meet him."

"Nice to meet you, Marvin," said Mark cheerfully, extending a hand.

Looking a little overawed in the presence of this human behemoth, Marvin shook it.

"Hey!" hollered someone from inside the train. "Are you gettin' on the train or not? You may be happy to stand in the friggin' doorway all day, but the rest of us have got places to go! Quit holdin' up everyone else and get on the damn train already!"

"Come on," said Mark, helping Amber onto the train, then waiting politely for Marvin to get on before finally boarding himself. "I'm late for work as it is."

They sat down on the threadbare seats and felt the train glide away. Despite the noise of the tunnel walls swishing past, the ride was deceptively smooth.

"So how's the job?" said Amber, nodding towards the badge on Mark's jacket.

"Doing just fine, thank you," Mark replied. "Security isn't exactly the line of work I wanted to go into, but it pays the bills and it's a good steady job. I'm starting a degree course in literature at the community college next month, too, and I'm hoping the job will give me some ideas for my novel."

"You're writing a novel?" said Marvin curiously.

"Yep. Not a war novel, though. I'm saving that stuff for my memoirs," said Mark, with a chuckle. "Nah, I'm thinking of writing a detective story. You know, like those Agatha Christie books I used to read when I was a kid."

Marvin brightened.

"You like those too?" he said.

"Sure," said Mark. "A friend of mine lent a bunch of them to me back in junior high and I thought they were great. Murders on the Orient Express, bodies in the library and deaths on the Nile, and half the time it was a little old lady who ended up solving the case. I just loved that."

"So which one's your favourite?" said Marvin eagerly.

"Well, I always liked…"

Amber allowed herself to slip into a comfortable haze of thought as the two men chatted away happily about plotlines and red herrings. She only emerged when she felt a sharp tap on the shoulder and realised that the train had stopped. Marvin and Mark were both standing by the open doors, ready to leave.

"Hey, Amber," said Mark. "We're going now. Our stop. I'll see you round, kid."

"Oh! Oh, yeah. See you, Mark," said Amber hurriedly.

"Bye, Amber, see you tomorrow," called Marvin, who was already on his way out of the train, and he gave her a cheery little wave.

"Bye, Marv," Amber called, and waved back.

She watched the two men carry on talking as they walked away down the platform towards the exit, and then the train swiftly moved off again. The platform disappeared from view and Amber settled back in her seat.

There was a fading map of the subway high up on the opposite wall, criss-crossed with various coloured lines and dots, and Amber studied it carefully.

"The next stop's Winterton, so I take the Red Line to Haines, then the Blue Line," she murmured to herself. "St James East… where the hell is that station again?"

"Last stop Winterton! End of the line, folks!" called someone at the other end of the carriage as the train drew to a halt outside a station.

Oh well - there was no time to worry about it right now. Amber got up quickly from her seat and hurried out onto the chilly, poorly-lit platform, still muttering Marvin's directions under her breath.

xxxxxxxxxx

Some time later, Amber arrived at her apartment building, out of breath from running. She looked at her watch and groaned. It was already well past eight; Brad was probably wondering where she was.

She ran up the stairs in the hall and rushed down the upstairs corridor, slowing down only when she reached the door of her apartment - number 113. Her key turned in the lock and she went inside.

Everything should have been fine now that she was in comfortable, familiar surroundings, but Amber's smile froze the minute the door slammed behind her. She looked around at the living room furniture and saw instantly what was wrong.

The photographs on the coffee table were all lying face-down. Yet when she'd left the apartment this morning, each one had been standing perfectly upright. And hadn't that big lilac cushion on the floor still been on the couch when she left?

Amber wondered briefly if she was imagining things or if the wind had just blown the photographs over, but no, the window was firmly shut, and locked for good measure. She couldn't feel a draught from the door, either.

_Nobody could have got in here without a key,_ she told herself sternly. _The only people who had keys to this place were me, Joseph and the landlady downstairs. Joseph__'__s mom gave his key back to me last week and old Mrs Carmichael wouldn__'__t hand over a tenant__'__s key without a fight, even if she is a nosy, cantankerous old bat. I have my key right here in my pocket. And I left all the windows shut, I know I did. Nobody could have got in here. I__'__m just being paranoid._

Nevertheless, Amber's suspicion failed to subside. She put her jacket and her purse down on the floor with exaggerated caution and, with great care, crept across the carpet to the kitchen doorway.

There was nobody there - but things weren't quite right here, either. The spoon had fallen out of the sugar bowl, one of the faucets in the sink was dribbling water and the chair that she _knew _she'd so neatly tucked underneath the table this morning looked as though it had been pulled out again and put back rather less neatly.

_Little details_, Amber thought. One or two might have been put down to bad memory, but this was turning out to be like one of those "Spot The Difference" puzzles you got in cheap magazines. You knew things weren't right from the start, but you kept looking anyway, because you knew that if you looked hard enough, you'd find out what was wrong…

Breathing slowly, Amber's hand dropped to her waist and she pulled her gun silently from its holster. She crept forward, her heartbeat pounding in her dry throat as she took hold of the doorknob, then she wrenched the door open, gun at the ready.

"Freeze!" she yelled.

A large black-and-white cat looked up with disinterest, then yawned languorously and settled back down on the bed. Amber, feeling slightly foolish, patted the cat on the head and went to investigate the bathroom.

When she came out again empty-handed, the cat hopped off the end of the bed and padded off across the room. Amber followed it out of curiosity, wondering where on earth it was going.

The cat went into the kitchen and wound its way through the table legs with perfect ease of movement, but when it came to getting through the gap between the chair and the table leg, it ran into a certain amount of difficulty. Eventually, the cat managed to squeeze its fat and furry body through the gap, accidentally dislodging the chair as it did so and moving it by a few inches.

_So that__'__s what happened,_ thought Amber, relieved. _Just somebody else__'__s big fat cat trying to get through a little gap and nudging the chair by accident. And it probably knocked those photos over by climbing on the table__…__ but how did it get in here?_

The cat jumped up onto the couch and made itself comfortable amongst the cushions. Amber sat down beside it and tickled the animal under the chin.

"So who do you belong to, kitty?" she said aloud. "And how'd you get in here in the first place?"

The cat purred loudly, like a car engine rumbling into life. Amber smiled, then scooped up the cat and opened the front door.

"Come on, sweetie," she told the cat. "Let's find out who you belong to."

Amber was about to go downstairs and ask Mrs Carmichael if the cat was hers when somebody bumped into her. She turned, startled, and saw a man with rumpled brown hair and an anxious look on his face. There was an open tin of cat food in his hand.

"Sorry, miss, I was just looking for my - " he began, then gave an exclamation of delight when he saw the cat sitting contentedly in Amber's arms.

"Tabitha!" he cried. "_There _you are! I've been looking all over for you… you had me worried sick!"

He picked up the cat, which mewed indignantly at first but then started to purr when it realised that the man's arms were warmer and more comfortable than Amber's.

"Thank you so much for finding her," said the man gratefully. "I'm sorry - my name's Howard, Howard Arkenham. I just moved into one of the apartments upstairs. I was unpacking some books this morning when she ran off. I've been looking _everywhere _for her… where did you find her?"

"In my apartment," admitted Amber. "I'm not sure how she got in; I guess I must have shut her in by accident when I went to work this morning. I had no idea she was even in there. I'm so sorry."

"No - no, don't be," said Howard, cuddling the cat. "I'm just glad she's safe. I thought she might have got lost in a new city and I was starting to worry. Thanks for bringing her back."

"No problem," said Amber. "Happy to help."

"You're with the police?" said Howard, glancing at Amber's uniform.

"Yeah, I just got back from work," said Amber. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Howard. My name's Amber and I'm in apartment 113. I'm at work a lot of the time, but if I'm home and you'd like someone to talk to, then you're more than welcome to drop by for some coffee. I know how it is, being in a new town and not knowing anybody."

"That's very kind," said Howard, smiling. "Thank you, I might just take you up on that. You know, you're the first person who's actually welcomed me to this place? The old lady downstairs just threw me a key, muttered something about newcomers and slammed the door on me."

"Mrs Carmichael? Oh, don't mind her. She hates everybody," laughed Amber. "Anyway, welcome to Raccoon City, Howard. Hope you settle in okay. I'd love to stay and chat longer, but I'm meant to be meeting a friend and I'm late already…"

"Oh, that's okay. I've got a whole bunch of stuff to unpack anyway. Thanks for finding Tabby."

"Don't mention it. See you round."

Howard nodded pleasantly, then shifted the cat onto his shoulder and walked back down the hallway.

"Man - we've got to get you on a diet, Tabby," he told the cat solemnly. "You're getting way too big, you fat cat. I should call you Tubby instead. And don't you run off like that again, either. You were lucky that nice lady found you…"

As soon as the cat and its owner had disappeared from view, Amber rushed back into her apartment, slammed the door and ran back into her bedroom.

"Stupid cat… I'm going to be late," she muttered, throwing open her closet door and searching frantically through the things hanging on the clothes rail until she found a plain blue summer dress. It was just right - simple, modest, and a comfortable dress that could pass for smart on most occasions.

She pulled the dress off the hanger, changed out of her uniform and dumped it on the floor - she'd sort it out later, she told herself - before changing into the dress. Unfortunately, it seemed to have shrunk by two dress sizes since the last time she'd worn it.

"Damn it!" she cried, discarding it. "What the hell am I going to wear now? Oh, I'm going to be late for sure!"

She grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor. They were clean, thank God, and there were a couple of white blouses in the closet that she kept for fashion emergencies such as these. Jeans and a blouse were fine for an evening for a friend, she told herself; Brad wouldn't mind and if he did, then too bad for him, because he'd just have to put up with it. She certainly wouldn't be losing any sleep tonight if he decided that she wasn't elegant enough for him.

_He can always go out with Jill instead__…__ except Chris would probably beat him to a pulp if he thought Brad might be moving in on Jill__…_

Much frantic searching on Amber's part revealed two broken coathangers and two crumpled white blouses at the bottom of the closet. Cursing the cat, the subway, her car, David's car, Tim's double shift and everything else that had made her late, Amber picked the one that had the fewest creases and donned it quickly. While smoothing out a prominent crease in the arm, she groaned again - there were black marks all around the cuff.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" she yelled, and unbuttoned it.

The phone started to ring. Amber stifled a scream of frustration and got up to answer it, trailing clothes as she ran into the kitchen.

"Now what?" she hissed under her breath, and snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

"_Amber_?" she heard Brad say. "_Is everything okay? It__'__s half past eight__…_"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Sorry, Brad, I couldn't get a lift home and I got lost on the subway twice, and things are just crazy over here right now. I'll be with you as soon as I can, okay?"

"_Well, do you want me to come and pick you up?_" Brad offered. "_We still have ten minutes before the movie starts._"

"Oh, would you? At the rate I'm going, I don't think I'll make it at all otherwise."

"_Okay. I__'__ll see you in a minute._"

Brad hung up the phone. Amber carefully put the phone back, then grabbed two handfuls of her hair and let out a long groan.

"Oh nooooooo… this is the worst night out of my life and I haven't even _left _yet…"

She rushed back into her bedroom and made one last desperate search for clothes. Everything in her summer wardrobe seemed to be either a t-shirt, a sequinned evening dress, or a low-cut top that, while pretty, was entirely inappropriate for a non-date with Brad Vickers.

"Maybe a nice t-shirt would do?" she said hopefully, taking out a plain black t-shirt and holding it up to the light for inspection.

Unfortunately, the other side of the plain black t-shirt bore the slogan "Mr T For President" and a badly-printed picture of the great man himself. It had been a thoughtless present from her brother last Christmas - Jason just loved t-shirts with dumb slogans on them and assumed that everyone else did too.

It would have to do, Amber told herself wearily. Brad would be here any minute and there really wasn't time to find anything else.

With reluctance, she pulled it on and went to find fresh socks and her hairbrush. The least she could do was make herself look clean and decent, she told herself, even if she was wearing a stupid t-shirt.

xxxxxxxxxx

Brad was already waiting outside when Amber finally emerged from her apartment. To her deep relief, he was similarly clad in jeans and a t-shirt, which made her feel a little less out of place. Nevertheless, she pulled her jacket tighter around her and folded her arms across her chest to hide the front of her t-shirt from view.

"Hi, Brad," she called. "I'm sorry… we didn't miss the movie, did we?"

"No, it's okay, we've got a few minutes," said Brad, looking at his watch. "By the way, have you met my mom?"

He pointed to a hatchet-faced old lady sitting bolt upright in the back of his car; if the sour look on her face was anything to go by, she was disgusted by the mere existence of downtown Raccoon City, and was even less impressed to find herself sitting in it, waiting for her son to return with one of its inhabitants.

Amber's heart sank. Did she really have to spend the evening with her friend _and_ his elderly mother? God only knew how a prim, proper, fussy-looking old lady like that would react to a young woman in a Mr T t-shirt.

"I - I didn't know your mom was coming with us, Brad," said Amber, as politely as possible.

"Oh, she's not coming with us. I'm just taking her home from her friend's house on our way to the movie theatre," said Brad. "She doesn't like horror movies, remember?"

Amber tried hard not to look relieved.

"That's a shame," she lied.

"Not really. I don't take her to the movies much any more," said Brad, helping her into the car. "She always spends the first half-hour complaining about the unnecessary violence in movies and the degradation of today's society, and then she falls asleep and gets mad because she didn't find out what happened in the end. I usually just bring her some flowers and take her somewhere nice for lunch every Sunday. It keeps her happy."

He opened the door and got into the driver's seat.

"About time, Bradley!" barked the old lady, as he started the engine.

"Sorry, Mom," said Brad meekly, and drove off.

"Is this your girlfriend?"

"No, Mom. This is Amber. She's an old friend of mine. We work at the precinct together."

"Well I don't think much of her outfit," snapped Mrs Vickers. "You young people have no sense of style at all. Back in my day, people knew how to dress and look nice."

"Don't say anything," whispered Brad, as Amber opened her mouth to protest. "Just say something polite and ignore her. She doesn't mean it."

"Okay," Amber mouthed.

She turned round and gave Brad's mother her sweetest and most charming smile.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs Vickers," she said politely.

"What?" said the old lady shortly. "Speak up, girl, and stop mumbling."

"I said _it__'__s very nice to meet you, Mrs Vickers,_" said Amber, much louder this time.

"Eh? Hmmph," said Mrs Vickers grudgingly, rather put out at having her pet theory about the coarseness of today's youth disproved in front of her. "Well, you're polite, anyway, I'll give you that. But you youngsters have to stop _mumbling_ all the time."

She turned to Brad and poked him sharply in the back. Amber saw Brad wince slightly, but he didn't complain and started to smile again almost immediately.

"Hear that, Bradley? I said you young people have to stop _mumbling_ all the time. No consideration for others. None at all."

"That's right, Mom," said Brad vaguely.

"And you're going too fast, Bradley!" she screeched, a moment later. "Stop driving so fast! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people who drive fast! You know that!"

Amber glanced at the street sign ahead, and then at Brad's speedometer. He was well within the speed limit and only going at about twenty miles an hour.

"Of course, Mom. I'm sorry," said Brad and, with a wink at Amber, pretended to slow down.

"That's better," said Mrs Vickers stiffly. "Now take me home, please, Bradley. And no dawdling along the way!"

xxxxxxxxxx

Brad didn't deserve his nickname, Amber thought. Managing to be unfailingly polite, cheerful and kind to his mother even when she was criticising every little thing that he did was no task for the faint-hearted, or the chicken-hearted for that matter. She could only marvel at his apparently bottomless reserves of patience.

"You really love your mom, don't you, Brad?" said Amber, as they drove away from his mother's neat little uptown house.

Brad smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah. She gets a bit cranky sometimes, but that's because she's an old lady and she can't do as much as she used to. She's quite nice when you get to know her better. Besides, she's my mom and I'm the only family she has left now. My dad died when I was still in college and she has a few friends, but they live right across town and she gets lonely sometimes, you know? So I keep her company. I'm used to being criticised anyway. At least in Mom's case, I know it's just because she's getting old."

"You're a good guy, Brad, for looking after your mom like that," said Amber.

"Well, somebody has to," said Brad, and he got into the car too. "If I don't look after her, who will?"

Amber smiled.

"Right," she said.

"Love the shirt, by the way," said Brad, looking over at her and grinning.

"You do?" said Amber, who could feel herself going red. "Yeah… sorry about that. I wasn't planning on going out in a Mr T shirt, but I didn't really have anything else to wear."

"That's okay," said Brad. "_The A-Team _was my favourite show back in the day, so I have no objection to you wanting him to be President."

"Well, I like Mr T and everything, but not _that_ much," said Amber, rolling her eyes. "It was a Christmas present from my little brother. I tried to get revenge on him by getting a t-shirt with "The Guy Wearing This Shirt Is A Moron" printed on the front, but it kind of went wrong."

"How do you mean?" said Brad.

"He thought it was awesome and the best present ever, and he wore it every day for the next two months. My parents used to avoid him in the street if they saw him wearing it. In the end, my mom said she'd double his allowance if he promised not to wear it any more. I think he's still got it in his closet somewhere, though."

Brad laughed, and suddenly he became an entirely different person. Gone was the timorous, shy Brad, with his nervous demeanour and slightly hunted expression; in its place was another man, happy and carefree, his face aglow with confidence. The illusion lasted for only the briefest moment before the old, more familiar Brad returned, but the memory of it lingered in Amber's mind for some time afterwards.

_Looks like there__'__s a lot more to Brad than people think there is,_ she said silently to herself as the car pulled into a parking space.

They were in downtown now, but in one of the nicer areas; Amber recognised it as the shopping district near City Hall. Just in sight were a slightly ramshackle movie theatre and her favourite restaurant, Grill 13. The walls of the movie theatre were adorned with brand new posters, declaring that _Biohazard 4 _was now in theatres everywhere and that the movie would involve a heroic-looking young man and a screaming blonde girl being carried off by a mob, while a sultry dark-haired woman in a red dress smiled mysteriously in the background for no apparent reason. Amber wondered why she was smiling, then decided that the woman was pleased that her love rival was being carted off by a horde of crazed peasants early on in the story, meaning that she could have the hero all to herself for the rest of the movie.

"Quick!" said Brad, suddenly grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the car. "We're going to miss it!"

Amber hurried after him as he ran towards the ticket booth by the entrance.

"Two for _Biohazard 4_, please!" he said breathlessly.

The bored-looking teenager on the other side of the window handed over two tickets without a word, took the crumpled twenty-dollar bill from Brad's hand and, rather sulkily, counted out the change.

"Film's just starting," she said in dull, apathetic tones.

"Okay. Thanks, miss," said Brad. "Come on, Amber, they're probably still showing the previews and stuff at the beginning. If you go ahead and find some seats, I'll get the popcorn, okay?"

"Okay," said Amber, following him into the theatre.

When they had both gone inside, the teenage girl in the ticket booth winced. Unwinding a stained bandage on her arm, she raised her hand to the wound beneath and started to scratch…

xxxxxxxxxx

The darkening sky took about half an hour to fade to black. One by one, neon signs buzzed into brilliance, joining the streetlights that were already casting their bright white glow out into the night.

It was another hour before downtown Raccoon City started to come alive. Nightclub doors opened, the rush of cars through the streets gradually died away, and the city's more nocturnally-inclined inhabitants drifted out of their homes, heading aimlessly in the general direction of bars, clubs, expensive restaurants and anywhere else that offered them the chance of a fun night out.

Outside the movie theatre, people were spilling out onto the streets, talking excitedly amongst themselves about what they'd just seen. However, not everybody had been satisfied with the evening's entertainment.

"That movie sucked," said Brad crossly, as they left the movie theatre. "The plot was lame and it didn't even have Jane Sweetheart in it, just Liam from _Bad Neighbourhood 2 _and that Ava chick who was supposed to have died at the end! They got rid of the zombies, the Z-Virus, the Parasol company, even Gopherville! Cult of crazed villagers in rural France, my ass…"

"You'd think that a VIP's daughter would have more police protection, wouldn't you?" commented Amber.

"Yeah! That was the lamest thing I ever heard! Kidnapping the President's daughter - yeah, like we never heard _that_ plotline before. And that weird little midget guy killed off Louis…"

"Yeah, that was a shame. Louis was a pretty cool guy."

"By the way, thanks for letting me hold your hand when those weird flying things kidnapped Lindsay again. And for not minding when the crazy cult leader turned into a monster and I spilled my drink on you."

"That's okay."

"Do you want to go for dinner?" said Brad hopefully, pointing towards the restaurant, which was now an island of light at the end of the street. "They do great steak there; six dollars ninety-nine cents and it's the best thing you'll ever taste in your life. I go there all the time."

"Um… no thanks, Brad," said Amber tactfully. This evening was getting a little too date-like for comfort. "I should probably be getting home now. I've got work first thing tomorrow."

"Okay," said Brad, who looked slightly disappointed. "I'd better not keep you out any later, then. Thanks for coming, Amber. Sorry about the lousy movie."

"That's all right. It was kind of fun anyway," said Amber.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Movies that stupid are pretty funny. Gave me something to laugh at, if nothing else."

"Well, I'm glad you had fun," said Brad, brightening a little. "Maybe we should do this again sometime."

"Yeah," said Amber, smiling weakly. "Maybe."

"Do you want a ride home?" said Brad.

Amber shook her head quickly, not so much to decline the offer as to try and banish the prospect of getting a goodnight kiss from Brad. It wasn't that there was anything _wrong_ with him, she reminded herself; she liked Brad, and she enjoyed his company, but Joseph haunted her every day and although he was gone forever, she felt as if he hadn't left at all. Kissing someone else would be like cheating on him, even though he was dead.

"Are you sure?" said Brad anxiously. "It's pretty late and you get some strange people wandering around at this time of night. It's no problem if you want me to take you home."

"I'll be fine," Amber reassured him. "Really."

"If you're sure," said Brad, who didn't look convinced. "But you take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too, Brad," said Amber.

She suddenly found herself being kissed swiftly on the cheek. Taken slightly by surprise, Amber returned the gesture, out of politeness more than anything else, and immediately felt like a traitor as her lips brushed lightly against Brad's cheek.

"Goodnight, Brad," she told him.

"Night, Amber," he said, rather awkwardly, and looked down at his feet. "See you round…"

xxxxxxxxxx

Ten minutes later, Amber was sitting on the last train home with her head in her hands. Her face was still glowing red-hot with embarrassment at the memory of being kissed on the cheek by Brad.

She looked up, and instantly wished she hadn't. Everywhere she looked, she could see Joseph's face staring accusingly back at her.

_How could you do this to me? _the phantom Josephs seemed to be saying silently, each one of them looking quietly hurt. _I__'__ve only been dead two weeks. I gave you my heart and soul and this is how you repay me? By letting Brad try and buy you away with flowers and a bad movie? Did I really mean so little to you that you can just forget about me? You said you loved me, Amber! You promised me you__'__d never love anybody else! How could you betray me like this?_

Amber swallowed and guiltily looked away. Her gaze fell on the engagement ring that Joseph had never had the chance to give her.

_I really am a traitor,_ she thought miserably, twisting the ring around on her finger. _I know it wasn__'__t meant to be a date, but I knew Brad liked me - I should never have agreed to let him take me out. Damn it, I even kissed him on the cheek! What the hell was I thinking? Oh, Joseph, I__'__m so sorry__…_

"… I'm not taking the subway again, Jack. Don't get me wrong, I know it's better than walking, but I don't feel safe down here. And there are panhandlers everywhere. I had five dollars in change when we left the theatre and now it's all gone," came a familiar voice from further up the train.

Amber looked up from her ring and saw the girl that had been sobbing at the kitchen table during the house party at Thursfield Park Avenue. She'd forgotten the girl's name after the stress and commotion of the previous night, but she remembered the face and the long, dark hair, and it was definitely the same girl. This time around, she was wearing a mint-green summer dress and looked much more content with her lot in life.

"Well I _tell_ you no to give all you money away, Lise," said the boy sitting next to her, in patient tones that didn't quite manage to conceal his exasperation. "You know they just gonna spend it on crack an' cheap liquor, so why you bother helpin' 'em out?"

Amber recognised the boy, too - it was the Street Rat that she and Kevin had hauled downtown after the fight in Limetree and Havant. Though still scruffy, he looked as though he'd paid slightly more attention to his appearance tonight; all his clothes were clean, his blond hair had been washed and combed, and Amber caught the faint scent of aftershave on the air.

"They said they were hungry," said the girl. "One of them looked like he hadn't eaten in days. Don't you have any faith in humanity, Jack?"

"I got faith, sure, but I got sense too," argued the boy. "Lise, I live in downtown an' I see those guys every day drinkin' out of a bottle of vodka. I love to believe that they gonna spend you change on food, but it ain't gonna happen, Lise. You wanna waste you money by givin' it away to a downtown loser, you can give it to me an' then I can pay for us to go see the movie next time."

"All right, all right. I know," sighed the girl. "I won't make the same mistake twice. I'd just like to believe that maybe I'm doing something to help somebody."

"We all would, Lise."

"Hey, kid," interrupted a voice from further down the train.

The boy and girl looked around and saw a friendly, eager-looking young man looking their way. He was wearing the uniform of a subway employee and looked entirely normal in every respect - save for his hair, which was a startling shade of blond and contrasted sharply with the dark brown of his skin. On his lap was a neatly folded copy of the _Raccoon Times, _with a half-completed crossword in view.

"Yes?" said the girl politely. "Can we help you, Mr - ?"

She peered at the badge pinned to the man's jacket, which bore the Raccoon City transport logo, the name "Jim Chapman" and underneath, the motto "Here to help!"

"… uh, Mr Chapman?" she finished.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you could help me out with this clue?" said Jim hopefully, his pen hovering above the crossword. "You know another word for Six Down, "slander or defamation"? Seven letters, starts with C…?"

"Calumny?" suggested the girl, before her friend could speak.

"Kickass!" Jim exclaimed, and scribbled in the missing letters. "You just made my day, kid. I've been working on that one all afternoon. Thanks!"

"You're welcome," said the girl, smiling.

The train slowed, with a screeching of brakes that made everyone on the train wince, and the train doors slid open. The two teenagers got up; Amber sighed heavily as she saw the boy smile shyly and take the girl's hand, helping her down onto the platform. It was yet another reminder that she would never have anybody to hold hands with again, now that Joseph was gone.

Two men boarded the train. Both well if soberly dressed, with briefcases and brand new cellphones, they would have looked like successful businessmen on their way home from work, were it not for the lateness of the hour. Amber noted the name of the station - Newbury, which meant that they were only two blocks away from the little Raccoon Hospital. The two men were probably doctors, she decided.

"… the decree came through yesterday," one of the men was saying. He had neatly-combed dark hair and was wearing a charcoal-grey suit, a crisp white shirt and an old-fashioned brown waistcoat, but this tidy, unruffled impression was spoiled by the look of exhaustion on his face.

"So you're a free man now, huh, George?" laughed the other, a slightly younger man with dark blond hair, a pale grey suit and a blue tie.

The first man smiled grimly.

"You could say that," he said. "Unfortunately, when Emma moved out she also liberated most of the funds from our joint account and a couple of antique pieces from my watch collection."

"That's too bad," the other sympathised. "She didn't get that pocket watch you just had fixed, did she?"

"No, I took that with me to work that day, thank God, but she got the Cartier wristwatch," sighed the first man.

"The Cartier watch?" said the second man, shocked. "The one with the ruby on the winding handle? Oh, that cheating bitch. I can't believe it, you paid a fortune for that watch…"

"I know," said the first man gloomily. "I'll probably never see it again."

The train moved off again, and Amber had just settled back into the gloom of her thoughts when she heard a whistle. She looked up quickly to see Jim looking appreciatively at her.

"Hey, girl… you're looking super-fly!" he said, with considerable enthusiasm. "I love the jacket! And you really work in those jeans. Yeah, you're looking fine tonight…"

Amber bit her lip and looked away, willing herself not to cry as a lump formed in her throat. It was at times like these that the loneliness was unbearable.

"Hey, what's up, girl?" said Jim cheerfully. "Why you looking so sad? You get stood up tonight or what?"

Amber couldn't hold it in any longer. A small sob escaped her, and then she burst into tears. The two men who had just boarded the train glared at the luckless Jim, who squirmed under their gaze.

"What?" he whined. "What'd I say? I didn't say nothing wrong! Man… what _is _it with this town? I knew I should have moved away and gone to Rose Bay City like my folks! My life _sucks_!"

Amber was so busy trying to halt the flow of tears that she didn't even notice the rest of Jim's indignant tirade, or the murmured conversation between the other two men. Only when she felt someone sitting down beside her did she bother to look up. The man in the brown waistcoat was now sitting on her right, looking concerned.

"Are you all right, miss?" he said hesitantly. "That guy didn't upset you, did he? If he did, then you're at perfect liberty to make a complaint about his behaviour. I know he probably meant well, but comments like that really aren't appropriate."

"No," said Amber, sniffling. She had finally located a crumpled tissue in the back pocket of her jeans and was doing her best to wipe her eyes with it. "No, it's not his fault. It's just that - well, my boyfriend died two weeks ago. I'm finding it pretty hard."

The man looked sympathetic.

"I'm so sorry," he said, proferring a tissue. "I know how it feels to lose someone close to you too. I just got divorced and until I caught my wife in bed with her yoga instructor a few months ago, I had no idea anything was wrong."

"They say bereavement and divorce are two of the hardest things to cope with," said Amber, taking the tissue. "Thank you."

"It wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't found out later that she'd slept with my boss, two of my co-workers, the gardener _and _the guy who cleans our windows," admitted the man. "I might even have forgiven her for it. Instead she filed for divorce claiming infidelity on _my_ part, then ran off with at least half of my liquid assets. Can you believe that?"

"Unfortunately, yes," said Amber, blowing her nose. "I'm a cop and I've been to a lot of domestics in my time. Fraud, gold-digging, accusations of theft, refusing to hand over the child support money… I've heard it all."

"Well, I'm a surgeon," said the man. "I've stitched up the results of quite a few domestics in my time, although these days I specialise in heart surgery. My name's George, by the way. George Hamilton."

"Amber Bernstein," said Amber, extending a hand.

"Always a pleasure to meet one of our city's finest," said George, shaking her hand vigorously. "Plain-clothes, or off-duty?"

"Off-duty," said Amber. "On my way back home for the night."

"Of course," said George, nodding. "If you were plain-clothes then you'd hardly announce the fact in public. Unless of course you were plain-clothes and simply pretending to be off-duty, but you could tie yourself up in endless knots with a theory like that." He smiled. "I hope you don't have far to go."

"St James East," Amber replied.

"Oh? That's not a bad neighbourhood," said George, with interest. "I hear property prices are going up there. You might want to consider making a few investments; the return on your capital could be quite significant in a year or two. I've been thinking of buying an apartment there myself."

"Really?" said Amber, who hadn't known this. "Wow. Too bad I'm renting."

George grimaced.

"That is too bad," he said. "You'd better hope your landlord doesn't find out, or he'll put up the rent."

"Yeah. Thanks for the tip."

"You know, I'm actually headed in that direction," George said, after some thought. "My colleague and I are going to swing by J's Bar on our way home. We've been reliably informed that it's a popular watering-hole in these parts, and since we've never been there before, we thought we'd take a look. I don't suppose you'd care to join us? We doctors don't get much chance to go out and meet people, so we'd welcome the company. And I'm told the beer there is excellent."

Amber tried not to shudder at the thought of running into Cindy Lennox again - especially now, when she was feeling so vulnerable.

"That's a kind offer, but no thank you," she said. "I've got work tomorrow and right now I just want to get back home to bed."

"Then may I at least have the pleasure of walking you home?" said George kindly. "It's getting late, and of course I don't believe everything I read in the papers, but all the same, it might not be advisable to walk alone at night at present."

"Really, that's very kind, but it's not necessary," Amber insisted. "I've lived in downtown my whole life and I've never had any problems. And anyway, I'm a cop. I'm armed and I'm trained in self-defence. Anyone trying to mess with me will probably regret it."

"Of course," said George, nodding. "I'm sure you're more than capable of looking after yourself. It's for my own peace of mind more than anything. My mother always told me that I would be failing in my duty as a gentleman if I hadn't at least offered to walk a young lady home at night."

"Well… all right," said Amber, giving in. "For chivalry's sake, if nothing else. I'd hate to think of you losing sleep over something that unimportant."

"Safety, unimportant?" said George, appalled. "Absolutely not. Stephen? We're going to escort this young lady back to her house on our way to the bar."

George's colleague just laughed.

"You're so old-fashioned, George," he scoffed. "Stop patronising the poor woman, it's not like she's incapable of taking care of herself! What are you stuck in, Victorian times? The rest of us are in the twentieth century and waiting for you to join us!"

"Maybe so, but I say the world would be a better place if we all took better care of women," said George firmly.

"George, you're such a dinosaur," laughed his friend. "But I suppose you've got a point. You can't put too high a price on personal safety these days, even if those so-called cannibal murderers don't really exist. All right, we'll take her back home, if it makes you any happier…"

xxxxxxxxxx

The walk home seemed to go much quicker with the two men for company, and it wasn't long before Amber found herself standing outside her apartment again.

"You know, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble," Amber told them. "Still, it was kind of you, and I appreciated the company. Thanks."

"Any time," said George modestly. "Well, we'd better go. Goodnight, miss. Take care of yourself."

"You too. Goodnight."

Amber unlocked the door and went straight into her apartment, quickly closing the door behind her to keep out the draught. It had been an eventful evening, she thought, draping her jacket over the back of the couch. Now, at last, her day was finally over and she could take things easy.

Without really thinking about it, she picked up one of the cushions from the floor and started righting the photo frames that her new neighbour's cat had knocked over.

_Damn cat. I__'__ll have to be more careful about leaving the door open, so it doesn__'__t get in again. I__'__m just lucky it didn__'__t need to go to the bathroom, I guess. God only knows what it would have used as a litter tray. I think I need some coffee. I think I__'__ll catch the late news before I go to bed, too - well, there__'__s nothing else on TV at this time of night._

Amber went through into the kitchen and turned the light on. The faucet was still dripping water, even though she'd tried to turn it off on her way out; resolving to call a plumber in the morning, she unhooked her favourite mug from the mug tree, and was just about to turn on the kettle when a splash of scarlet caught her eye.

She turned round and gave a start as she saw the bouquet of blood-red roses, still wrapped in their cellophane and placed in a tall glass vase at the centre of the kitchen table. There were a few sprays of little white flowers mixed in with the roses, and the arrangement was identical in every respect to the one that Brad had given her…

… _but I left them at work_, she said to herself. _What are they doing back here?_

Very cautiously, rubbing her eyes and wondering if she was just imagining things, Amber walked up to the table and gingerly touched one of the crimson blooms. She almost expected the flowers to dissolve like a daydream the moment she touched them, but the petals were soft and silky beneath her fingers.

_Strange,_ she thought. _But they__'__re real enough, so at least I__'__m not going completely crazy._

She plucked one of the roses out of the vase and sniffed it, breathing in the rich, heady scent of the flower. It was then, right at the heart of the rose, that she spotted something jet-black nestling between the petals. She frowned, puzzled by the presence of the object, and had just considered extending a finger to prod it when the little black thing began to move.

Amber felt her muscles tense up with fright. What was that thing? Was it some kind of ant, or a little bug that Brad had picked up along with the flowers at the flower shop? But when the thing finally emerged from its hiding place, she saw eight legs unfolding like tripods, saw the hateful slash of ruby-red on the rounded, gloss-black body, and realised that her very worst fear was sitting not an inch from the tip of her nose.

She screamed and flung the rose away across the room, but the black widow spider had already dropped to the floor and was scuttling across the tiles towards her. Before she could even think about fleeing the room in terror, it had crawled onto the toe of her right sneaker, poised to work its way along the shoe and up her leg.

"Oh God!" she shrieked, and brought her other sneaker down sharply onto her own toes. Too driven by panic to even notice the flash of pain, she frantically scraped the sole of the left sneaker across the top of the right one until the spider dropped onto the floor -

Still screaming, Amber stamped down hard, leaving a little black mess of crushed spider and a minute dark smear of spider-blood on the clean yellow and white tiles. The spider was no more.

"Oh - oh God," Amber gasped, backing away. "Where did _that_ come from?"

Shuddering at the sight of the stricken spider, she kicked off her sneakers and left them on the floor as she hurried out of the kitchen. She'd have to call an exterminator. Was it too late to call one now? Was there even such a thing as a 24-hour pest control firm? She had to check the phone book right away and find out -

A terrible thought stopped Amber in her tracks. What if there were more of those things in here, or in the other rooms? Her skin crawled at the thought of finding one perched among the cans in the kitchen cupboard or, horror of ultimate horrors, waking up to find one on the pillow next to her…

No, she had to call somebody right away and get out of here. Perhaps she could stay over at her mother's house, or maybe Jill's place, just until she knew that the spider problem had been taken care of. There was absolutely no way that she could stay here if there was any possibility of another poisonous spider being at large in her apartment.

A knock at the door sent her scurrying behind the couch with a yelp.

"_Hey, miss, are you all right in there?_" called a muffled voice on the other side, and this was enough to calm Amber down again. She recognised the voice and had a feeling that she knew who it was.

She got up, opened the door and was instantly proved right; George and Stephen were standing outside. Both men looked rather nervous, but they seemed to settle slightly when they saw her.

"We heard a scream on our way out and we came back to check on you," said Stephen, rather timidly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm - I'm all right, I guess," said Amber, who was still breathing hard and trying not to whimper out loud at the memory of what had just happened. "Just had kind of a shock a moment ago."

"A shock?" said George, his brow furrowing. "Is everything all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine, but it could have been a close-run thing," said Amber, shuddering again. "I just found a black widow spider in a bunch of flowers and it scared me half to death!"

The two men gasped.

"A black widow? Is it still there?" said George urgently. "Those things are deadly poisonous; one bite can kill a grown man without immediate medical treatment. It didn't bite you, did it?"

"No, I killed it," said Amber faintly. "But I'm kind of scared… do you think there might be more around? I'm terrified of spiders, _especially _poisonous ones, and I don't think I'll sleep at night again until I know there aren't any more around."

"Then I suggest you throw out the flowers, find somewhere else to stay the night and call an exterminator first thing tomorrow," advised George, and his friend nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Are you kidding? I don't even want to _touch_ those flowers!" cried Amber. "Not after what just happened!"

"I'll do it, if you like," said George gallantly. "I'm not scared of spiders. And if the worst happens, well, we're not that far from the hospital, and Nurse Kaye told me only this afternoon that they've stocked up on serum for poisonous animal bites. We always get more bite cases during the summer, though I must admit that some of the recent ones have been extremely odd…"

"All right, fine. But if you insist on pestering this poor woman all night, you should at least give her something to calm her nerves," said Stephen. "I know I'd want a stiff drink after seeing a black widow spider in my house… that must have been one hell of a scare. Perhaps some brandy would help. Do you keep any brandy in the house, miss?"

"Yes, but I'll pass on the drink, thanks," said Amber politely. "I've got work first thing tomorrow. But if you could help me with the flowers…?"

"Sure," said George. "Lead the way."

"We're glad you're all right, miss," said Stephen, as Amber led them inside. "Do you want us to call somebody for you?"

"No, it's okay," said Amber, trying to smile. "I'm going to call my friend now and - oh, the flowers are in the kitchen," she added, as George looked around quizzically, and she hurried into the room after him to make sure that he didn't throw out her African violet plant by mistake. Stephen trailed after them both, contriving to look helpful and not at all in need of a double brandy.

George picked up the vase of flowers from the table, then gave a startled cry and dropped the vase. It smashed into pieces on the floor, spraying water and stray flower petals everywhere. Stephen opened his mouth to rebuke his colleague for the accident, then saw why it had happened and went pale.

"My God, there's _dozens_ of them!" he exclaimed, backing away.

Sure enough, there were black widow spiders scrambling out of every blossom and fold of cellophane, crawling out onto the floor and across the kitchen. Amber screamed at the top of her lungs and grabbed Stephen's arm, clutching the frightened man like a talisman and trying to hide behind him at the same time.

"Stephen, help me!" ordered George, coming to his senses and grabbing the nearest kitchen utensil - a long wooden spoon, which he brandished like a sword. "We have to get rid of them right now or they'll run off to hide and then we'll never find them again! Come on!"

With a certain amount of reluctance, Stephen picked up a spatula from the worktop and the two men sprang into action, yelling and trying to flatten each and every spider that came their way. Rooted to the spot with fear, Amber could only watch, chewing her knuckles and whimpering to herself as George and Stephen slammed down their makeshift weapons onto the floor, the table and chairs, cupboard doors, the oven door and, occasionally, each other's fingers.

There was a thunderous knocking at the front door. A moment later, Amber heard it burst open and a man with tousled brown hair rushed straight into the kitchen - it was none other than Howard, her new neighbour.

"Miss Bernstein!" he gasped. "I heard you screaming and I came as quick as I could! Are you o- _holy shit_!"

"Don't just stand there, man!" George yelled, throwing a frying pan across the kitchen. "Help us out here, will you?"

Howard, who had caught the frying pan but had almost dropped it again in surprise, nodded shakily and, taking up the pan like a sort of cudgel, rushed into the fray.

"Where did they all come from?" he yelled, bringing it down onto the first spider he saw.

"They were hiding in a bunch of flowers!" Stephen yelled back. "Quick, there's a whole bunch of them behind you! Kill them!"

Howard yelped and promptly flattened half a dozen black widow spiders with one blow of the frying pan.

"But I don't understand!" he cried. "Black widow spiders? I thought you only found them in rotting timber and stuff, not in a bunch of flowers in someone's apartment! And why are there so many of them?"

"I don't know and I don't care!" snapped Stephen, stamping on three more spiders and then taking out two more on the back of a chair with his spatula. "We can talk about the hows and whys when they're dead!"

George narrowed his eyes, killed two more spiders, then turned to see how Stephen was doing and gasped.

"Stephen!" he yelled. "There's one on your arm! _Don__'__t move!__"_

Stephen froze mid-movement.

"Where?" he cried. "Quick, get it off, get it off! Don't let it bite me!"

"Hold on!" George urged him. "Just - just stay still, Stephen, it's okay! I'll get it off you, but you mustn't move an inch!"

Grabbing a Post-It note from the door of the refridgerator, George ran back to his petrified friend and, with extreme care, slid the piece of paper between the spider and Stephen's arm - then dropped the paper on the floor and, with a kamikaze death cry, jumped up and down on it until there was absolutely no possibility that the spider could be anything other than completely flat and just as dead.

"I think that's the last of them," gasped Howard, putting down the frying pan.

The three men looked around, their eyes darting to every corner of the kitchen. The room was now covered with water, broken glass, foliage, rose petals and squashed spiders. Satisfied that all the spiders were now dead, they nodded in approval at a job well done and lowered their weapons.

There was a shrill scream from the corner of the room and they whirled round to see Amber cowering by the refridgerator, her wide eyes firmly fixed on a solitary spider that had somehow survived the onslaught and was crawling along the floor towards her.

George yelled, grabbed the wooden spoon again and dived across the room to save Amber. Using the handle of the spoon like a dagger, he stabbed viciously at the creature until it expired. Panting, he threw the wooden spoon away and scrambled to his feet.

"Are you all right?" he said, helping Amber up and taking hold of her shoulders. She was chalk-white and shaking violently, gulping in air as though someone had just tried to suffocate her. She tried to reply but no sound came out of her mouth except a whimper that quickly became a hysterical fit of dry sobbing.

"It's all right," said George, patting her gently on the back. "It's all right, they're dead. You're safe now. Just take deep breaths, okay?"

Howard and Stephen exchanged looks of total bewilderment.

"What the hell just happened?" said Howard after a while.

"Beats me," said Stephen. "All I know is that after the crazy evening I've just had, I really, _really_ need a drink. We were just on our way to J's Bar, as a matter of fact. I don't know if you want to join us…?"

"Sure," said Howard politely. "Uh, where is it?"

"New in town?" said Stephen.

"Yeah, just got here. My name's Howard Arkenham."

"Dr Stephen Temple. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Howard. And good work on the spiders, by the way, that was quite impressive. Are you in the extermination business, by any chance?"

"Actually, I'm in insurance," said Howard, with a helpless little smile. "But pest control is probably more interesting. Who's your friend?"

"Introducing Mr George Hamilton, heart surgeon, Harvard graduate, divorcee, gentleman and expert spider-killer," said Stephen, with a grin.

"All of those?" said Howard weakly.

"He's a man of many talents."

"So I see…"

When George had finally succeeded in calming Amber down, he turned around to the other two men.

"Stephen, do me a favour and clean up that mess, will you?" he said. "It's not fair to leave Miss Bernstein to do it after what just happened."

Stephen shrugged, picked up a dustpan and brush that had been gathering dust near the trashcan, and went to work. Howard, who felt that he ought to be helping too, took a fistful of paper towels and did his best to mop up the water.

When they'd finished, Stephen picked up the bunch of roses and, holding them away from him as though they were radioactive, dropped them into the open trashcan.

"Good riddance," he said, with feeling. "Whoever sent those must have really hated you, miss… did you upset anybody lately?"

Amber's mouth opened, and she turned to stare at him, watching him so intently that he started to feel rather uncomfortable.

"Hey," said Howard, spotting something on the floor. "Hey, I think I've found out who they were from…"

"They weren't from Brad," said Amber, swallowing hard. "He sent me roses just like those, but I left them at work this afternoon - and Marvin took the cellophane off them. I don't know how they got here. Nobody else has a key to this place except my landlady, and my rent's always on time - can I see that?"

Howard had picked up a piece of waterlogged white card, and now he looked perturbed. He passed the card to Amber for her to read and she was amazed at how heavy it seemed.

"It's blank," she said flatly, and turned it over, intending to put it in the trash immediately afterwards, but then she saw a scrawl of red ink on the other side and thought better of it.

Seconds later, she felt her heart stop and she went even whiter than she had done when faced with dozens of deadly spiders.

"What does it say?" said Howard.

Amber just shook her head, unable to reply for fear that she might end up screaming instead. Instead she stared in silent horror at the smudged words in front of her:

_Jason Alexander Bernstein_

_1979-1998_

_Don't say we didn't warn you._


	9. Game Over

**9: Game Over**

**Monday 10th August, 1998**

It was three in the morning. Raccoon City's few skyscrapers were still towers of light, but the rest of the city's windows were dark - even the people in downtown were asleep now.

Unusually, the residents of Masefield Park seemed to have turned off their lights before going to bed, leaving their neighbourhood dark and silent. Few of the streetlights worked now; the power company had given up trying to restore normal service in the area after two employees got carjacked, three more were mugged and another never returned at all, and now the only real illumination in this street came from the buzzing neon signs of the bars and the strip club.

But in a run-down apartment building, one light was still shining at a third-floor window. An observant passer-by would have noticed that there were more cars parked outside the building than usual, although they wouldn't have paid undue attention to it - the locals always took great care not to see or hear anything unusual out here, for fear of what might happen if they did.

There were no passers-by at this time of night, observant or otherwise. This fact seemed to satisfy the scowling young man who was hanging out of the third-floor window, training a shotgun on the street below and smoking a cigarette as though he hated it.

"Chris," came a weary female voice from inside the apartment. "You're going to fall out if you lean out any more. Just get back inside and close the window. You're letting all the cold air in."

"I'm not moving," said Chris stubbornly. "I'm staying out here to keep an eye on my car. I know this neighbourhood and I know how easy it is to lose a good car out here. Even if it's still here in an hour's time, it won't have wheels, and if it still has wheels, then it won't have a stereo. And if it still has a stereo, then it's a goddamn miracle, because nobody asks where used car stereos come from out here. Besides, if you're stupid enough to leave your car unattended in a place like this, then it's your own damn fault you lost it in the first place. You might as well write "Steal Me" in the dirt on the rear window and leave the keys in the ignition."

"Nothing's going to happen to your car, Chris," said Jill, in the weary tones of someone whose patience was being severely tried. "Brad says he paid his protection money this month and that everyone else in the street did too. If anything, it's probably safer where it is right now than anywhere else in the city."

"Look, Jill, I just finished the last payment on that car," growled Chris. "If anything happens to it, I want to make sure that _somebody _gets hurt."

He shifted position slightly, and said almost as an afterthought:

"Besides, after what happened just now, I'm not taking any chances. If anyone from Umbrella comes anywhere near this place, then they're going home with a shotgun shell in their ass. _Nobody _sends death threats to one of us, or to our families."

"All right, you win this round," said Jill, sighing. "Just don't fall out, okay?"

"I won't."

Jill turned away from the window's rustling blinds and took in the rest of the living room.

Brad's apartment was as shabby on the inside as it was on the outside. There were damp patches on the ceiling and gaping cracks in the walls, and the furniture was old and badly worn. She hadn't expected much from the place, considering the general state of the neighbourhood, so it hadn't come as that much of a shock to find the apartment in a state of disrepair.

What _had _shocked her was how clean everything was. The paint may have been peeling from the walls, but there wasn't a speck of dust in the place; every surface had been scrubbed until it gleamed. The smell of furniture polish and glass cleaner was everywhere, and there were careful little touches - a new rug on the bare floorboards, a vase full of fresh flowers, some neat stitching along the side of a cushion - that may not have said a word to Brad's landlord but spoke volumes to Jill. They told her that Brad was the kind of quietly conscientious person who, though too shy to ask for better living quarters or even some basic maintenance, was a great believer in the maxim that you got what you were given, and he took care of what little he had.

There was a sort of meeting going on in the room, and it centred around the threadbare green couch, where Amber sat in tears. Jill felt a stab of sympathy for her friend; she knew only too well what Amber was going through.

"Why would they do this?" Amber was sobbing into a handkerchief. "I'd understand if it was me, but Jason? What has he done to deserve this? He's only nineteen! He's still in _college_, for crying out loud! He's no threat to them!"

"Well, Amber," said Barry uncomfortably, while Brad fussed over Amber, "I hate to say it, but this is exactly why we didn't want to get you involved in all this. We were afraid that something like this might happen, and we wanted you and your family to be safe. Now that you're mixed up in this case too, we can't guarantee your safety any more. We'll do our best, of course, but I'm afraid that you and your brother are in just as much danger as we are now."

"We're sorry, Amber," Jill murmured. "We didn't want this. This is all our fault. We should never have agreed to let you help us."

"No, Jill, it's my fault," said Amber tearfully. "I should have known that something like this would happen. You warned me it might, and I didn't listen. It was selfish of me to put my family in danger like this. But - but I couldn't stand by and let you struggle on your own. You're my friends. And Umbrella has to be stopped. I'm not giving up."

"But - " Barry tried to interrupt.

"No!" said Amber loudly, silencing him right away. "If I back out now, they've won! And I'm _not_ going to let them win, not after what they did to Joseph!"

"But what about Jason?" protested Barry. "Amber, you may be willing to put your life at risk, but now there are innocent lives on the line too!"

"There are innocent lives on the line already," said Chris shortly, from the window. "A whole city full of them. Maybe even more. Never mind Amber's brother, the whole _town_ is in danger. If we don't stop Umbrella, he'll die anyway, and so will everybody else!"

Jill glanced over at Amber's brother. Jason Bernstein had his sister's bright green eyes and the same strawberry-blond hair, in an untidy mop of long curls that almost covered his eyes. He was slightly shorter than his sister and looked a little more robust, with muscular arms and legs; Jill remembered that he liked baseball and had been good at sports when he was in high school. He was still wearing his pyjamas - a pair of old boxer shorts and a t-shirt that said "Prevent Hangovers - Stay Drunk" - and hadn't understood why he'd been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and driven here, but answers had not been forthcoming and he had soon given up questioning his situation. He was now lounging in the cracked leather armchair, watching television and completely oblivious to the argument going on around him.

"… this is about more than just one person, Barry," Chris was saying forcefully. "This is about protecting everything and everyone that we hold dear, and the only way we can do that is by shutting Umbrella down for good. What, are you going to let family matters get in the way of your duty again? Look what happened the last time you put family first!"

"Now just you wait one moment," said an indignant Barry.

"Chris, shut up! This isn't accomplishing anything!" Jill shouted.

Chris turned back to the window, looking resentful. Jill cleared her throat, and continued.

"Barry's right to be concerned," she said levelly, and saw Barry nod in agreement. "Just because we're willing to put our lives at risk, it doesn't mean that we have the right to do the same to our families. But Amber's right, we can't give up, no matter what they try to do to us. The very fact that we're in this situation now is proof enough that they have to be stopped. They have no right to do this to us, or to anybody."

"So we need a plan," said Brad, who had just returned from the kitchen with a plate of cookies and several mugs of coffee.

"Thank you, Brad," said Jill, taking one of the mugs. "Yes, exactly. We need to figure out how to carry on with this mission and keep Amber's brother safe."

"And keep _all_ our families safe," interjected Barry.

"Quite right," agreed Jill. "Barry, are Amanda and your girls still going to Canada?"

"I'm making arrangements," replied Barry, taking a cookie from the plate. "Amanda has relatives up there, out in the country. She and Moira and Polly should be safe with them."

"Not everyone has family living abroad," pointed out Rebecca, who had been sitting at Brad's old upright piano and idly picking out tunes for the past ten minutes.

"Good point," said Jill. "Chris, what about your sister? Does Claire have anyone that she can stay with?"

"If any of those scumbags even go near Claire, it'll be the last thing they ever do, because they'll have to get past me first," replied Chris, without turning his head from the window.

"Okay… Rebecca, what about your sister?" said Jill, quickly moving on. There was no point arguing with Chris; everyone knew how protective he was of his little sister.

"Leah's backpacking in Australia with her boyfriend," said Rebecca, wiping a few drops of spilled coffee from the piano keys. "She and James are always on the move; even I don't know where they are from one day to the next. I think they'll be all right. And my parents are flying out to India next week - my dad's doing some research on the elephant population for work, and my mom's being sent out to work at a children's hospital in New Delhi, so they'll both be out of the country for a while."

"Well, that's good news. Brad?"

"If Umbrella knows what's good for them, they won't go anywhere near my mom," said Brad, with deep sincerity. "She may be a cranky old lady and half-deaf, but she keeps a shotgun under her bed in case of burglars. I'd hate to be the guy that messes with her."

"What about you, Jill? Are Adam and Sarah okay?" said Barry.

"Yeah, my brother's gone back to rehab with some sort of made-up condition," said Jill. "Personally, I think he just has a fixation with young Swedish nurses. And my sister's in university well out of the state. I've told her to stay on campus and not to go anywhere on her own. That's all I can do. So, what are we going to do about Jason?"

"How about the Witness Protection Scheme?" suggested Rebecca. "They could give him a new identity and send him somewhere safe, right?"

"In theory, yes," said Barry. "Problem is, Amber's brother hasn't actually witnessed anything. And since we don't have any concrete evidence that this death threat is from Umbrella, or anything other than some kind of sick hoax, we can't prove that his life really is in danger."

Rebecca looked disappointed. Sighing, she placed her small, slender fingers on the piano keys and started to play a tune from the music book perched on the piano. Jill winced as the first few notes rang out, and not just because the old Bösendorfer was slightly out of tune. However, she did her best to ignore it and carried on talking.

"Then perhaps we could - "

"HEY!" Chris bellowed suddenly, and the others jumped.

"What is it, Chris?" said Barry, getting up and hurrying to the window.

"Hey, you!" Chris was hollering to someone down below. "Yeah, _you_! Don't think I can't see you down there! Get away from my car, you little bastards!"

Barry could just make out some shapes in the darkness. They appeared to be quite small shapes, child-sized, but they were lurking dangerously close to Chris' new car. When they looked up and saw the shotgun, the feral street kids instantly scattered; as one of them ran away, Barry saw him drop the key that he'd been about to scrape along the side of the car.

"Yeah, that's right!" Chris shouted after them. "Go on, get out of here! And don't come back!"

He withdrew his head from the open window and turned around to beam triumphantly at everyone else in the room.

"See, Jill? I told you," he said, rather smugly. "Those little punks would have keyed my car if I hadn't been keeping an eye on it. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to make sure that they don't try and double back…"

"That's the reason why I'm single again," muttered Jill, as Chris returned to his post. "It's just a mercy he couldn't find a grassy knoll…"

Amber had to bite down on her tongue to stop herself from laughing. Barry sat down again, reached out to take another cookie, then stopped and looked embarrassed as he saw the stern look on Jill's face.

"Oh yeah - the diet," he said hastily, and withdrew his hand. "I forgot."

"Oooh… busted!" said Rebecca, giggling.

"So, about Amber's brother - " Jill tried again, but she was cut off once more, this time by a snore from the armchair. Jason, tiring of the televisual entertainment on offer, had rolled over and gone straight back to sleep.

"Can I turn that off?" said Amber, pointing at the television, which was showing some disturbingly graphic images of aliens ripping a human apart limb from limb, all in superbly-rendered 3D. "It's not that I mind video game violence, per se, but right now I'm really not in the mood for survival horror."

"Sure," said Brad. "Go right ahead. The remote's over there."

Amber picked up the remote up from the top of Brad's new games console and stared at the buttons in quiet incomprehension. Why couldn't they make all these things exactly the same, she wondered. This one bore absolutely no resemblance to any of the ones she owned; she had no idea which one the "Off" button might be.

"… _expect __"__Alien Death Explosion IV__"__ to be on the shelves by the end of next week,_" announced the show's host, a young man with a death metal t-shirt and a long ponytail. "_Coming up next on Game 24-Heaven, a quick preview of __"__Escape From The Mind Police__"__, the latest release from Underground Games. We__'__ll also be joining Magda Ernst and Kristen Kunstler at the 10th Annual Girl Gamers__'__ convention in Düsseldorf, and after that we__'__re going to test all the latest consoles - to destruction! All this and more, after the break__…"_

"Push the red button," called Brad. "It's on the bottom right."

"Oh, right," said Amber, and pushed the button. The commercial for Raccoon Mountain Beer disappeared abruptly and the television screen darkened.

"Thanks," said Jill, who was looking slightly distracted. "Now, does anyone have any ideas about what we can do to - "

She stopped again. At first the others wondered why, but then they saw the terrible look on Jill's face, heard the music that Rebecca was playing in the background, and realised what was wrong.

"Rebecca," said Barry warningly. "I think maybe you should play something else…"

Jill had gone pale and her hands were starting to tremble slightly.

"Why?" said Rebecca, who was still playing a slightly imperfect version of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. "What's wrong? I've been trying to get this piece right for months and we don't have a piano at home any more. I really need the practice. I know it took me ages to figure out back at the mansion - "

"Goddamn it, Rebecca, will you just _shut up_?" Jill yelled, finally losing her temper.

Rebecca looked startled, but she closed the piano lid right away and turned around on the stool to face the others.

"Sorry," she said, shrinking back in her seat as Chris turned to glare at her.

Jill buried her face in her hands.

"It's all right, Rebecca," she said dully, without looking up. "Just… don't play that again. Please. It brings back too many bad memories."

"Okay," said Rebecca. "I won't."

"All right," said Jill, composing herself again. "We need somewhere safe for Jason to stay. Any ideas?"

"He can stay in my apartment," offered Chris.

"I don't think so," said Jill sharply. "Your apartment's _disgusting_. It hasn't been tidied once in the past year, you never open the windows, and it smells like old socks. In fact, it smells like _your_ old socks, which is even worse. If Umbrella doesn't get the poor kid, then all those undiscovered germs back at your place probably will."

"All right then, where _is_ he going to stay?" said Chris sulkily, and he sat down on the coffee table, not noticing the loud creak from the table or Brad's pained expression. "Brad only has one bedroom, Barry's wife won't want to let a complete stranger stay in her house, and Rebecca's parents won't like the idea much either. Jill, you're about to move again and that's no time to have guests staying with you. He could stay with Amber, but she needs somewhere to stay herself until the exterminators make sure she's spider-free."

"They'll need a _lot _of somewheres to stay," corrected Barry. "Amber and Jason are both in danger and it won't be safe for them to stay in the same place too long. They'll have to keep moving. Ideally, they should stay somewhere different every night."

"Every night?" said Amber, feeling her heart sink. "For how long?"

"It depends, but I'd say at least two weeks, to start with," said Barry. "Once they get sick of following you around town, you can start going back to your place."

"All right," said Amber eventually, after some thought. "I have a few friends who would probably let Jason sleep on their couch for a night or two."

"What about you, Amber?" said Barry.

Amber shook her head.

"I'm not leaving my apartment," she said. "As soon as the spiders have gone, I'm going straight home."

There were various cries of amazement and disbelief from the STARS members.

"What?"

"You're kidding!"

"What are you talking about, Amber?"

"Are you crazy?"

"They'll kill you!"

"They've killed me already, Rebecca," said Amber bitterly. "They did that the day they took Joseph away from me. The only reason I have to carry on now is to stop them from getting away with murder. After that, I don't really care what happens next. If they want to try and take me out, well, they know where to find me. But I am _not_ running away from them. Not now, not ever. I'm not giving those sons of bitches the satisfaction of seeing me run."

She looked across the room at her sleeping brother. Her expression softened, and she almost smiled. She then turned back to the STARS members and took in their horrified expressions.

"Don't worry about me," she assured them. "If the worst comes to the worst, then at least I'll be with Joseph again. But if something does happen to me, then please take care of my brother."

"We'll do our best," said Jill.

"But it's not going to come to that, is it?" said Rebecca anxiously. Her blue eyes were twin pools of emotion, brimming with hope, optimism, uncertainty and dread. "It isn't, right?"

"No, Rebecca," said Amber, shaking her head. Her eyes had come to rest yet again on her brother, who looked so peaceful when he was asleep. "It isn't."

It had been almost enjoyable at first, joining in with the STARS' mission to take down Umbrella, almost like being privy to some sort of big, exciting secret. It had been great fun to thumb her nose at the company by secretly passing information to her friends, playing at being a revolutionary. _Vive la Résistance_!

But now the fun was over. Umbrella had made it quite plain tonight that this wasn't a game any more - this was real life, with real danger, and people that she knew and cared about were going to get hurt.

_No more games,_ thought Amber grimly. _From now on, this is war. Either Umbrella goes down, or I do__…_

xxxxxxxxxx

**Thursday 13th August, 1998**

"Hey, Amber! You seen Rita today? She's meant to be on patrol with me this afternoon," called David McGraw, as Amber walked into the west office. He was standing by the lockers and struggling into a bulletproof vest.

"She's not in today," said Amber, putting down the can of soda that she'd been finishing off on her way back from her lunch break. "Marvin said she called in sick this morning. I think she's got a cold."

"Looks like I'm on my own today, then," said David, shrugging. "And I have to go through gang territory too. Damn it…"

"Where are you patrolling?" said Amber, hurrying to help him.

"I'm working Little Estonia today," replied David, as Amber adjusted a twisted strap. "That's - ow! - Freewheelers turf, isn't it? Hey, will you watch it with that?"

"Well, if you held still for two seconds it would really help," said Amber, unmoved. "I wouldn't worry about it, David. The Freewheelers are a small-time outfit, pretty much harmless, and it's a quiet neighbourhood anyway. The only thing you really have to worry about in Little Estonia are the drains and being the next district over from Masefield Park."

"Yeah, that's true enough. Better take someone else along, though. Rules say two officers on each patrol, and I'm not breaking regs just to try and look brave. Think I should go ask Doug?"

"Doug? No, he's way too busy working on that burglary case. Go and ask Oliver."

"Oliver? Hell, are you kidding me? He can't stand the sight of me!"

"All right then, go find Todd and Travis. One of them'll be free this afternoon, probably Travis, but I'm not sure what the rota is today."

"All right, I'll check it out with them. Thanks, Amb."

"No problem," said Amber, standing back. "Look after yourself out there."

"I thought you said it was a quiet neighbourhood," said David accusingly.

"It is, but look after yourself anyway," Amber told him. "Keep an eye out for anything unusual, too. A couple of our contacts are saying that a bunch of no-good failed entrepreneurs seem to have come into a _lot _of cash lately. It might be nothing - maybe one of their money-making schemes actually worked for once - but you might want to make some enquiries, see where they've been getting all that money from."

"In Little Estonia? I'd say a shady business venture, probably borderline legit, but nothing actually illegal," said David thoughtfully. "Might be hard to find out what they're up to. People out there are reluctant to talk to the cops unless there's something in it for them, and that's not the way we do things around here. But I'll ask a few questions and see what I can dig up."

"Okay. Thanks, David. Have a good trip."

"Yeah, I'll catch you later."

David left the room, but the door barely had time to shut before it opened again. In walked Kenny, carrying two jugs of coffee and a yellow box of doughnuts on a tray. He was humming happily to himself and looked lost in thought - he didn't even notice the friendly greetings from Marvin and Tim as he passed by.

"He's in his own little world today, isn't he?" said Marvin, looking up from his work and smiling at Amber. "Must be in love. Mom said I always used to go around in a dream like that when I was dating Sophie Buxton. She was the most beautiful girl in high school and I nearly didn't ask her out because I was so scared she'd say no. I couldn't believe my luck when she said yes; I was walking on air the rest of the year."

"What happened?" said Amber, finishing the can of soda and tossing it into a wastebasket.

"Oh, her dad got a job out of town and the family moved away," said Marvin, with a touch of regret. "She promised to write every week, but after a while we lost touch. You know how it is."

"That's a real shame," said Amber.

"Hey, it happens," said Marvin serenely, as he wrote his signature on a form. "I'm just glad I knew her even for a short while. I'm sure she's happy now, wherever she is, and - "

There was a yell and a crash somewhere off in the distance, and Marvin jumped, surprise suddenly disturbing the expression of peace on his face.

"What the hell was that?" he said, looking up at the ceiling in perplexity.

"Guess someone upstairs must have dropped something," said Tim, entirely unperturbed, and he passed another form across his desk to Marvin. "Can you sign this one for me, Marv?"

"Sure," said Marvin, taking the piece of paper.

There was another crash, this one much louder, and Marvin and Tim's heads shot up.

"Sounds like someone really needs to be more careful," Tim remarked. "I just hope it wasn't something that breaks easily. Hey, Marv, you remember the time that rookie officer tripped on the top step and dropped that projector downstairs?"

"Yeah, I remember," said Marvin. "That thing must've hit every step on the way down. Completely smashed. That poor guy ended up confined to desk duty on half-pay till he'd finished paying for it. Those things are expensive, too."

However, this crash didn't seem to have stopped; they could hear a loud rumbling sound, like a large, heavy object tumbling down the stairs. Marvin, Tim and Amber exchanged looks.

"Please tell me that's not another projector," said Tim, groaning, and put his hand over his eyes. "Man, the Chief's going to have a _fit_…"

There was a cry of alarm from somewhere downstairs, accompanied by one very final crash. The three officers stiffened, then scrambled out of their seats and rushed towards the door to investigate. They hurried through the evidence room and pushed aside a very surprised Elliot Edward, who had been filing something in one of the drawers. Amber was the first to reach the door. She yanked it open, peering out and down the hall. Marvin and Tim craned their necks, trying to get a good view, then gasped in horror.

Lying sprawled at the foot of the stairs was a large and very tubby police officer - an older guy with a moustache, whose face they all recognised instantly. Kneeling next to him was a frightened-looking Kenny, who had set down the two coffee jugs and the tray with the doughnuts and was trying to help the injured man.

"Oh, man," said Tim quietly. "That's Officer Elran, isn't it?"

"He looks really hurt - I think we'd better call somebody," said Marvin, who was starting to look worried, but then he shook his head. His expression changed, and suddenly he looked more like the normal Marvin; the calm, professional Marvin who always knew what to do and always kept his head in a crisis.

"Tim, you go to the front desk and find out where Officer Chambers is, she'll know what to do," he ordered. "I have to find Officer Ryan and tell him what's happened, he'll have to fill in an accident form and put this down in the log book… Amber, go make sure he's okay!"

The two men hurried away. Amber, who up until then had been too stunned to move, took a few very hesitant steps forward.

"Elran…?" she said quietly.

For one terrible minute, she thought that the man was dead. As she got closer, though, she could see that he was still breathing. His face and arms were terribly bruised, and blood was spurting from a badly cut lip. He was probably going to have a black eye tomorrow, too, but right now she was more worried about the possibility of concussion and broken bones.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" a woman was shrieking upstairs, and Amber looked up. Jill was standing at the top of the stairs and yelling at Chris, who was scowling darkly at the scene below him. "What's going on with you, Chris?"

Amber's heart skipped a beat. Chris? Chris Redfield had done this? He'd been acting strangely lately, she knew that, and he'd always been rather impulsive, but pushing someone down the stairs was something she'd never expected of him.

Kenny looked terribly shaken.

"Officer Valentine…?" he said, looking up, with a faint tremor in his voice.

Jill seemed to calm down at the sight of the younger boy. The anger in her face morphed gradually into a look of gentle, almost motherly concern.

"Kenny, can you please make sure Elran is all right?" she told him, then turned around and began scolding Chris in a furious whisper. She'd barely finished her first sentence when, to Amber and Kenny's amazement, Chris winked at Jill and walked off, as though nothing had happened. Amber simply couldn't believe her eyes.

_What the hell was that all about?_ she thought. _Did I blink and miss something important just now, or has that guy gone completely crazy?_

Jill seemed to be thinking the same thing - she stood at the top of the stairs, speechless with anger and utterly dumbfounded by the way her team-mate had simply shrugged off his behaviour. Kenny, meanwhile, was bending down on one knee and examining the fallen officer for injury. To Amber's profound relief, Hugo Elran gave a sort of spluttering cough and placed his hand on top of Kenny's.

"I'm okay, sonny," he croaked. "Let me just get to the bathroom to get cleaned up…"

"But… are you feeling up to it?" said Kenny uncertainly.

"Oh, don't you worry about me," said Officer Elran, with a chuckle, brushing aside the teenager's attempts to help him. "There's a lot of fat on this body to keep me well-cushioned!"

He chuckled again as he attempted to sit up, but this didn't seem to allay Kenny's concerns; he still looked worried and fearful.

Jill ran downstairs to help, her eyes widening with shock as she took in the full extent of the man's injuries.

"Oh my goodness," she said, going pale. "I'm so sorry for what Chris did! I swear, he can be so _irrational _at times… always acting on impulse…"

"Oh, it's not his fault, Jill," said Hugo hurriedly, as Jill fussed over him. "It was mine. I was walking by and I didn't watch where I was going. I bumped into Chris as we were rounding a corner and accidentally splashed him with some hot coffee."

"That sounds like an honest mistake to me," agreed Kenny.

"It most likely was!" said Jill quickly, although the look on her face told Amber right away that she didn't agree with this hypothesis one little bit. "I'm so sorry, Elran. I'll make sure Chris gets a good talking-to!"

She and Kenny helped Officer Elran to his feet.

"Don't you worry about a thing," she reassured him all the while. "Let's get you to the First Aid station. We keep a couple of First Aid sprays around the corner in the photo lab, here. Can you help him out, Kenny?"

"Uh, sure," said Kenny, and he gestured towards the coffee and doughnuts that he'd put down on the floor. "If you could take these to the STARS office for me…"

Jill thought for a moment.

"Actually," she said, with a quick glance at the coffee, "maybe you'd better get that up to the office real quick. I'm sure Chris will be needing something to cool him down a little. I'll take care of Elran."

Kenny didn't seem to relish the prospect of delivering refreshments to an irate Chris, but he nodded and picked up the coffee jugs. He tried to pick up the tray with the box of doughnuts as well, but looked as though he was struggling to re-establish the careful balancing act that he'd been maintaining earlier. Deciding that someone needed to lend him an extra pair of hands before he dropped something, Amber hurried forward to help.

"Here, Kenny, let me help you with those," she called, but Kenny shook his head.

"That's okay, Officer Bernstein," he said, putting down one of the coffee jugs so that he could adjust his grip on the tray. "I can manage."

"Are you sure?" said Amber.

"Really, I'll be fine," Kenny assured her, picking up the jug again. "Though I think Officer Valentine might need some help with Officer Elran, he fell down the stairs and he - "

"Took a pretty nasty tumble," said Amber, effortlessly prising open a gap in the sentence and filling it with her own words. "Yes, I saw what happened. Go on, Kenny, you run those upstairs and I'll go give Jill a hand."

Kenny nodded gratefully and went upstairs with extreme care, so as not to spill any coffee or tip the doughnut box off the tray. When his footsteps faded out of earshot, Amber looked at Jill, who sighed.

"I honestly don't know what's up with him," she said, as she and Amber led Officer Elran in the direction of the darkroom. "Ever since we came back, Chris has been acting like a completely different guy. He's been acting so… I don't know whether it's because he's wound up about all this stuff, or if he's just cranky because he's not getting enough sleep, but - oh, I don't know. I just wish he'd snap out of it, that's all."

"Same here," said Amber. "Elran, are you sure you're okay? That eye's looking pretty nasty. Maybe you should go home."

Jill looked at Officer Elran suddenly. Amber had heard it said that you could see someone's soul in their eyes, and their innermost thoughts written in a fleeting expression. One look had been enough for her to understand what was going on in Jill's head; the quiet desperation in that one little glance had shouted out the words that the woman didn't dare speak.

_Please, Elran, go home - don__'__t let anybody see what just happened. Don__'__t let them see what Chris did. If they find out, then they__'__ll call him dangerous and psychotic and then we__'__re all done for._

Amber found it faintly ridiculous that the fate of the STARS could lie in the hands of a round, jolly man who looked like everybody's favourite uncle, but she knew that Jill was right. Hugo Elran was a popular and much-admired member of the precinct - he'd solved dozens of crimes of all shapes and sizes, and his expert opinion was sought on an almost daily basis. Plenty of people here took his word as gospel truth, and if he told them that Chris had violently attacked him because of an accidental splash of coffee, then that was what they would believe. The reputation of Christopher Redfield was already hanging in the balance; if something like this got out, then Chris would be finished.

"I don't know what you're looking so alarmed for, missy," said Elran, with a warm smile that was marred grotesquely by the blood dribbling from his split lip. "It's all right. Accidents happen. I'm sure young Redfield didn't mean to hurt anybody, though he's been acting kind of tense lately. Maybe he should ease up a little on the paperwork and take a vacation. That's the trouble with you youngsters - you spend too much time stuck in here instead of getting out in the fresh air."

"Chris isn't going to get in trouble, is he?" said Jill anxiously.

"Trouble? Oh my, of course not," said Elran, chuckling. "Not for a couple of bruises and a cut lip! It takes a lot more than a little tumble down the stairs to stop old Hugo Elran… just tell him to be more careful in future, that's all."

"I will," said Jill sincerely, and Amber could see the relief in her friend's face. "Amber, can you get the door for me?"

"What?" said Amber, snapping out of observation mode. "Oh, yeah, the door…"

She opened the darkroom door with one arm, still using the other to steady Officer Elran, and poked her head around the door.

"David?" she called. "Sorry to bother you, but Officer Elran took a pretty nasty fall down the stairs. Can we bring him in here for a few minutes and fix him up?"

"All right, if you really must," grumbled a man's voice from somewhere inside the room. "But don't _touch _anything."

The room was decorated in the same two-tone colours as the hallway outside, cream and dark green, though the cream had faded to grey over time and had never been properly repainted. Once a storeroom for office supplies, the room had never been intended for use as an office space, but the ever-industrious and borderline-obsessive David Ford seemed to have colonised it for his own use; in addition to the old iron chest in the corner, which had probably been there before Officer Ford was even born, there was a metal locker, a new storage unit with lots of shelves and drawers, and a desk and chair. These items of furniture had almost certainly been obtained from elsewhere in the station, and had been incorporated so neatly into the room that people had forgotten that the furniture had ever belonged anywhere else. It was now known to everybody as "David Ford's office", and he'd staked his claim to the room so strongly that it would probably still be called "David Ford's office" long after the man himself was dead and gone.

Very occasionally and very, very grudgingly, he'd allow others to share the room, but they tended to get uncomfortable and leave at the first opportunity; they felt as though they were intruding, somehow, by being in the room with him. Mostly, though, interlopers were greeted with a sullen, angry silence which lasted until the second they left. Even the Chief was reluctant to enter the room without permission, though these days he didn't seem to leave his office much anyway.

As Amber had expected, David Ford got up from his desk the moment he saw them enter the room. Picking up a sheaf of papers, he retired soundlessly, with a scowl, to the confines of the adjoining darkroom. Jill just shrugged, and searched through the room until she found a First Aid kit tucked away in one of the storage unit's drawers.

"Okay, Elran, this _probably _won't hurt a bit, though no promises," she told him, opening the green and white box. "It's been a while since First Aid training and I never was that great at it. I'll do my best, though."

The door opened and in came Rebecca, slightly out of breath.

"Hi guys," she gasped. "I got here as quick as I could. What happened?"

"Chris knocked me down the stairs," supplied Officer Elran. "An accident," he added, and Amber saw Jill breathe out again.

Rebecca looked startled.

"Oh dear," she said. "I'd better take a look at you. Where does it hurt?"

"Where doesn't it hurt?" joked Elran.

"That good, huh?" said Rebecca, with a small smile. "Well, let's take care of this lip first, and we'll see about the rest of you later. Jill, could you pass me that First Aid spray? We need to disinfect this cut…"

She squinted slightly at the instructions on the can of First Aid spray, then shook her head.

"It's no good," she said after a while. "I can't read this, the label's kind of stained and the light in here sucks. Let's go somewhere where I can actually see what I'm doing."

The resentful silence from the other side of the wall indicated that the young girl's criticism of the room was not at all welcome.

"Thanks, David," called Jill. "We're going to take Elran into the waiting room, where it's brighter. We'll bring this back when we're done, okay?"

There was no reply from the darkroom as Jill, Rebecca and Officer Elran left the office. Amber was about to follow them when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned round. David Ford was standing in the doorway, his auburn hair gleaming in the dim light, and for once there was the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face.

"Just a second, Amber," he said to her. "There's something I want to show you. Step inside a minute, I think you'll find this interesting. I wasn't going to show Valentine and Chambers. Those STARS members will probably only jump to even more crazy conclusions if they get their hands on this. You know how they are."

Amber decided to let this last comment pass unnoted, and she followed the man into the adjoining darkroom.

"So what is it?" she said, stepping over a box of photographic equipment and looking around the stark little room with genuine interest. It wasn't often that she got chance to come in here, and at Ford's invitation no less.

David just raised his eyebrows and beckoned her over to the end of the room. There was a large sink set into this unit - she wasn't sure what it was for, exactly - and on the flat work surface she saw a pair of shallow plastic trays, filled with the chemicals used for photographic development. She didn't really understand how the process worked and could only bow to David's expertise in this field, though she vaguely recalled something about silver nitrate from high school art classes.

A little clothes line had been strung up here. Attached to it were several sheets of wet, shiny photographic paper, their images already clearly visible. David carefully detached one of the new photographs from the line and handed it to Amber for inspection.

"What do you think?" he said.

Amber looked at the photograph. It depicted a crime scene at the First Raccoon County Bank, with a smashed window and a safe that had been blown right open. There was glass on the floor and a few pieces of scorched and twisted metal from the safe, but other than that, there seemed to be nothing unusual about the image.

"A little overexposed," she said critically. "I'm assuming this isn't one of yours."

"No, this was taken and developed by Officer Corey Dumont, one of the new kids from Forensics," said David, with the kind of pride that reminded Amber of the time her father had shown off her first painting from kindergarten to all his friends from work. "Pretty good, huh? I think he'll be good at this in a couple of years, with a little more practice. Nice kid. Takes his photography seriously. If you see him around, tell him he can work in here any time he wants."

Amber was impressed. Coming from a rabid perfectionist like David Ford, this was praise indeed, and she decided to tell young Corey just how lucky he was to have earned the man's respect.

"Was that all you wanted to show me?" she said politely, after a moment's silence. "It's interesting, don't get me wrong, and I'm glad Corey's doing so well, but why would that interest STARS? The only person that's going to interest is Doug Channing, since he's in charge of the burglary case."

"That?" David laughed. "Oh, no, I just wanted to show off my brightest new student's work. No, _this_ is what I wanted to show you. Take a look."

He rummaged in a drawer and produced a manila envelope, which had already been opened. He slid out a selection of photos, picked out one and held it out to Amber.

"This was taken two days ago by a twenty-two-year old woman named Bethany Rove," he informed her, as she took the photograph from his hand. "She claims to have been in the Brentford area when she saw this, although it looks more like Fairview to me. I personally think this is a fake, but I'm interested in hearing your opinion."

Amber's mouth opened.

"What… what makes you think this is fake?" she said slowly.

"Well, according to our files, Miss Rove has filed several fraudulent claims for sexual harassment against her former employers. Since then, she's gained quite a reputation for attention-seeking behaviour," said David, with a hint of disapproval. "She's a freelance photographer but formerly worked as a graphic designer, meaning that she's almost certainly an expert in photo-manipulation. I'd say she's been following the stories for a little while and now she wants to start getting in on the action so she can be part of the media circus, maybe earn herself a few bucks at the same time. Stuff like this is easy to fake and the papers won't care about the authenticity; they'll pay a fortune for pictures like this one."

"I'm not so sure," said Amber, looking closer. "Proportion, brightness and contrast are all fine, and there's no sign of pixellation. No inexplicable blurring or smudging, no obvious sign of cropping or covering up flaws, no uneven patches of colour or pattern where there shouldn't be. If this is a doctored photo, it's an extremely good one."

"Anything to say about the location?"

"It's definitely not Fairview," said Amber, holding the photograph closer for a better look. "The skyline's all wrong for that area. No, that's Brentford all right. Looks to me like the Box Hill area; the houses there are a lot like the ones on the outer fringe of Fairview, but the brickwork's a different colour. If this was Fairview, the bricks would be dark brown, but the colour in these ones is almost maroon."

"Box Hill, huh?" said David, scribbling down some notes on a notepad. "You know, I think you might be right. But as for the subject matter, I'm still saying it's a fake. Look at the guy in that photograph - that's selective colouring if ever I saw it. The background and the rest of the foreground are normal, but that guy's skin is kind of a blue-grey. The only time you'd see that colour on a guy was if he was lying on a slab with a tag round his toe. No, I'd say that's a tired-looking friend walking around and play-acting, fixed up in an image-editing program with desaturation and some clever use of the colour burn tool."

Amber looked closer again.

"You got a magnifying glass, David?" she said.

"Right here," said David, passing one over. "I always keep one close by when I'm working."

"Thank you."

Amber peered at the picture through the magnifying glass, casting the object over different areas of the picture to bring the fine details into clear view. Each brick, each leaf, each spot of old chewing gum stuck to the sidewalk was enlarged several times through the lens and brought sharply into focus. The magnifying glass spent several seconds hovering above the centre of the picture, lingering like a spotlight on the unpleasant subject of the photograph. It trembled a little in Amber's hand as she breathed in, very slowly.

"No, definitely not a fixer-upper," she reported, and put the magnifying glass down on a nearby shelf. "Look at the colour on his shirt. If you pick out a red and use it with the colour burn tool, it'll look pretty good but on bright white surfaces you can spot some very faint traces of yellow and orange around the edges. It's dark red from edge to edge here, no sign of any lighter shades."

"You can fix that up, though," pointed out David. "She probably noticed it and just cleaned up the edges a bit."

"True, but I don't think that's what's happened here. This looks real," said Amber.

"But that can't be right," said David suddenly. "It's not possible. This has to be fake, it _must_ be. Even if she hasn't done any editing, that must be - I don't know, fake blood or something. There are some pretty good brands of stage blood on the market now."

"Not _that_ good," said Amber firmly. "We used fake blood for a school play once, and it stayed runny for a good long while. In this photograph there are definite signs of clotting. And what about that neck injury? Even on a computer, that's pretty hard to fake."

"You'd be amazed what they can do with make-up these days," said David, although the conviction in his voice was starting to weaken.

"Do you really believe that, David?" said Amber, raising her eyebrows.

"Look," said David impatiently, and he folded his arms. "This isn't real, because the subject matter isn't real. This might be a real photograph but that's a fake injury, because a real injury like that would have killed somebody! They wouldn't still be walking around afterwards!"

"Wouldn't they?" said Amber sceptically. "These days, David, you can't tell what's walking around the city. I think we should give this woman a call and ask her a few questions about what she really saw that day. You might not want to hear the answers, but I know I'm interested in what she has to say about all this. Dig up her details for me, will you?"

"Oh, no," said David, narrowing his eyes, and he snatched the photograph from Amber's hand. "No, you don't. You've been hanging around with the STARS too long, Amber. Valentine's probably been feeding you all kinds of crazy crap. Look, this is clearly a hoax and I see no point in following it up!"

"All right then," said Amber patiently, holding out her hand. "Give me the photograph and I'll file it in the evidence room with all the other fabricated photos."

"Actually, if you don't mind, Amber, I'd like to hold onto this for a little while and keep examining it," said David quickly. "I want to find out how she fixed this up."

"If this is just a hoax, then why are you so interested in it? And what's wrong with me following up a line of inquiry, even if it is probably going to come to a dead end?" said Amber. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of fake zombies!" snapped David.

"What about real ones?"

"There aren't any real ones!"

"A lot of people might think otherwise," Amber pointed out. "If someone is setting up pictures like this and sending them out to the police and the media, this could start spreading panic through the city. We could end up with riots on our hands. Even if this isn't true, it has to be investigated, so we can put a stop to it before it escalates into something worse. Now please give me Miss Rove's details, so I can conduct an investigation into this incident."

"Miss Rove is a fraud and so is this photograph," said David angrily. "I'm only keeping this for professional interest, so I can see how she made it! I see no reason to waste even more police time by conducting pointless investigations into obvious fakes! Don't we have enough work to do?"

"There have been real attacks, David!" said Amber crossly. "People out there are terrified of whatever's causing them, and whether you like it or not, there _are_ rumours of cannibals and even zombies going around! Anything that might be encouraging them _has _to be investigated, so we can start getting to the bottom of the attacks and keep the public calm! Now if you just - "

She jumped as David Ford slammed his hand down on the worktop.

"I've had enough of this!" he snapped. "Get out of my darkroom!"

"David, look, just - "

"OUT!"

Amber glared at him for several seconds, then stormed out of the darkroom. When she was safely at the door of the office, she raised her voice and said:

"I don't see what the point of asking my opinion was, Ford, because you've obviously made your own mind up about all this! You're certainly not interested in anything I have to say! I suggest that if you don't want my opinion in future, then _don__'__t ask for it_!"

She slammed the door behind her and started walking away in the direction of the evidence room.

"Stupid, stubborn jackass," she muttered. "What's the point in asking me what I think when he won't even listen to the answer? That guy really needs to stop spending so much time in the dark. I swear those chemical fumes are messing him up in the head."

For a moment, she wondered why David had sounded so angry at the suggestion of zombies, and why he'd been so insistent that the photograph was a fake. Then it struck her - the man was frightened. He didn't want to believe that the photograph was real even though he _must_ have known that it was; he'd only asked for her opinion because he thought she didn't believe in zombies, and thought that her own disbelief in zombies would have provided him with some comfort and reassurance that nothing was really wrong with Raccoon City.

_Poor David. He__'__s burying his head in the sand, hoping that it__'__ll all go away if he keeps ignoring it and pretending it isn__'__t real. He wants people who don__'__t believe in zombies to tell him that there aren__'__t any, so he can believe it too. No wonder he__'__s always in the darkroom - he__'__s in there hiding from real life, with his photographs to remind him of the outside world._

There was a distant tinkle of breaking glass, and then the sound of running footsteps along the upstairs hallway; Amber paid these very little attention until she heard someone racing down the stairs and was almost bowled over by a startled Kenny.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said, grabbing the younger boy by his shoulders. "Where's the fire, Kenny? Come on, there's already been one accident around here today - you don't want to cause another one, right?"

Kenny shook his head hastily.

"Sorry, Officer Bernstein."

"That's okay, Kenny," said Amber, smiling. "Just take it a little slower, that's all. There's no rush. Hey, I know you like it here, but I've never seen anyone _that_ eager to get back to work before! You put any more enthusiasm into your work and you'll explode."

Kenny smiled weakly at the comment and reached for the handle of the door that led to the briefing room hallway. However, just before his fingers closed around the handle, he hesitated and turned around.

"Officer Bernstein?" he said.

Amber had been about to carry on towards the evidence room, but she stopped and said:

"Yes, Kenny?"

"I saw Chris just now and he's still really mad about something," said Kenny. "I don't know what. But what happened just now with Officer Elran, by the stairs… that wasn't really an accident, was it?"

Amber looked Kenny right in the eye. There was no use lying to him, she thought. People often treated him as though he was a child, but he was fifteen years old; he was old enough and smart enough to see right through phoney explanations, and she wasn't about to insult his intelligence by lying blatantly to him.

"No, Kenny," she said quietly, and she shook her head. "I don't think it was. But please don't go spreading that around. You're a high school student and I'm sure you know how much damage gossip can cause. I'm not expecting you to lie, or to keep secrets on someone else's behalf, because honesty is important. I just don't think that mentioning this incident will do anybody any favours, least of all Officer Elran. Nobody likes being reminded of their own misfortunes, especially the painful and embarrassing ones. You're a sensible kid, and I'm sure I can rely on your discretion. Right?"

Kenny nodded.

"Right," he said.

"Thanks, Kenny. Have a good day," said Amber.

"You too, Officer Bernstein," Kenny replied.

When he had gone, Amber looked up at the stairs and sighed. Since Jill and Rebecca were busy seeing to Officer Elran, and Barry had taken the afternoon off for "family reasons", which almost certainly involved organising an extended family vacation to Canada, it was probably down to her to find out what was wrong with Chris, and why Kenny had left the STARS office at a dead run.

She really _hated_ her job at times like these. Still, she reminded herself, somebody had to do it. Amber gathered up her courage, breathed in, and climbed up the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxx

The first noise that greeted Amber when she walked in through the door of the STARS office was the sound of broken glass shifting underfoot. The second was a sad little splash, the result of stepping in a large puddle of what appeared to be cooling coffee. She picked up a plastic handle, the only remnant of the coffee jug, and sighed.

"What the hell is your problem, Chris?"

Chris was hunched over his desk, reading an old newspaper. He looked up from his desk, saw who was speaking and looked back down again.

"Look, Amber, I'm not in the mood for this," he muttered. "Please go away."

"So what mood _would_ you be in for this?" said Amber, putting one hand on her hip. "A happy, receptive mood? Look, Chris, if you were in a happy, receptive mood then I wouldn't have to talk to you about your goddamn attitude problem. What in the name of all that's good and holy possessed you to push Officer Elran down the stairs? You could have killed him!"

"All right, I overreacted," said Chris sharply. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just having a really bad day. On my way back from lunch I heard a pair of those dimwits from the west office telling each other complete _lies _about Jill and Barry, and that brain-dead moron known to civilised society as John Fulham telling everybody who would listen that I was a crackhead."

"Pair of dimwits… you don't mean Elliot Edward and Neil Carlsen, do you?" said Amber.

"That's exactly who I mean," said Chris, incensed. "Let me tell you that I was pretty pissed-off about that, but I didn't say anything, because Jill was with me and I didn't want her getting upset. So we went back upstairs to work and then Elran comes out of nowhere and before I know it, me and my new shirt are covered in scalding hot coffee. When that happened, I just saw red and punched him in the face. I didn't even think about what I was doing, and I know I never meant to send him falling all the way downstairs… is he all right?"

"Pretty beat up," said Amber. "But he'll be okay. You're just lucky he thinks it was an accident. If he didn't, your career would probably be over right now. Assaulting a police officer is a serious offence."

"I know," said Chris, sighing heavily. "God, I'm such an _idiot_."

"I'd say that's a pretty accurate assessment," agreed Amber, pulling up a chair and sitting next to Chris. "But what gets me was the way you winked at Jill like that. What did you do that for? That doesn't say "accident" to me, that says "Hey, it's okay, the idiot got what he deserved". You could even say that it said "premeditated", which is probably what a lot of people round here will say if this gets out."

"I wasn't winking at her," said Chris shortly. "My eye's been twitching all day. It's getting really bad and it's starting to drive me nuts."

"_Starting_ to?" teased Amber.

"Oh, Amber, give me a break," said Chris, turning away. "I know you're Jill's best friend and you hate my guts because I messed things up so badly with her, but can you just get over it for ten minutes? From the way you're acting, anyone would think it was _your_ heart I broke, not hers."

"Anyone who hurts a friend of mine has it coming to them," said Amber simply. "But if Jill can mostly forgive you, I guess I can start doing the same. All right, let's call it quits for now and be civilised."

"Thanks."

"The eye-twitching is down to too much caffeine, too much stress and not enough sleep. Coffee is _not _a substitute for rest, Chris. The twitch will go away when you start looking after yourself a bit better. I warned you about that, and I'm going to warn you about it every single day until you actually pay attention. Do you hear the words that I am saying to you, Chris? Look. After. Yourself."

"Jeez, Amber, anyone would think you cared about me," said Chris dryly.

"Don't flatter yourself," laughed Amber. "All right, all right, that was a _joke_. Don't glare at me like that. I was _kidding_. I do care about you, Chris. You may have been the worst boyfriend in the entire history of dating, but you're still Jill's friend and that makes you sort of my friend too, whether I like it or not. That means it's my job to care. And what a wonderful job it is, when you're getting yourself covered in coffee and losing your temper in so many pointlessly dramatic ways. Do you have any clean shirts?"

"No, I don't! Why do you think I'm so pissed-off?"

"Never mind, you can change when you get home. I'm sure you have a couple spare in your apartment."

Amber thought about the state of Chris' apartment.

"Well, possibly," she added. "And coffee stains aren't the end of the world. You didn't get burned, did you? You said it was really hot."

"Only a couple of little spots. Nothing bad."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"All right, all right… I'm just _asking_. Look, maybe you should go home for a little while. You can change your shirt, get some sleep and have something to eat, and come back later when you're feeling better."

"You think I should?" said Chris.

"I would," said Amber. "Jill's furious with you and she's probably going to give you hell when she gets back."

"Oh, God," groaned Chris. "Forget the rest of the afternoon, that's a good reason for me to stay at home for the rest of the _year_. You're right, I am better off at home. I'll come back tomorrow when she's calmed down."

"Good idea," agreed Amber. "Oh, and I hope you're going to clear up that mess."

"What mess?"

"That mess," said Amber, pointing at the smashed remains of the coffee pot on the floor and the coffee stains on the back of the door.

"Oh, _that_ mess," said Chris, as if noticing it for the first time. "Yeah. I'll ask Gus to do something about it."

"No, you will _not_," said Amber sternly. "That poor guy does enough work around here as it is, and he's been on his hands and knees scrubbing the jail cell floors all morning. You made the mess, _you_ clear it up."

"All right, fine! I'll clear it up and then I'll go home. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," said Amber, rolling her eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Chris. Try not to kill anybody on the way out, okay?"

"Will do. And see if you can keep Jill busy for a few minutes while I clean this up. They must be on their way back by now, and as much as I enjoy Jill's company, I _really _don't want to run into her on my way out…"

xxxxxxxxxx

"… I'm sorry, ma'am," Bernice was repeating stubbornly, as Amber opened the door. "There really isn't anything we can do. Our officers are all extremely busy and right now we just don't have the manpower to offer your daughter special police protection. Have you tried contacting a private security firm?"

"I don't want a security firm, I want the police!" the woman insisted, clutching the edge of the wooden reception desk. "These people are extremely dangerous and I know they mean business! Please, you _have_ to help me!"

It was the end of her shift and Amber had been on her way out of the building, but the snatch of overheard conversation had been so arresting that she couldn't help stopping to look at the source - a slender and frightened-looking woman in her forties, with dark shoulder-length hair and blue eyes. She was dressed in neat office attire, with sensible black court shoes, and her hair had been tied back into a neat ponytail. Amber also noticed that her mascara had run slightly and her glasses were starting to mist up.

"… don't tell me you don't even have one officer to spare to keep my little girl safe?" the woman was protesting feebly.

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but if you want a criminal investigation then you'll have to give us some more specific information," said Bernice, with more than a touch of impatience in her usually calm and friendly voice. "If you're not willing to divulge any information you might have as to the exact nature of the threat, or to tell us who you believe to be responsible, then I'm afraid there really isn't much we can do."

"But if I tell you, they'll kill her for sure!" said the woman, sounding almost hysterical and close to tears. "If they know I've told you anything… I'm not risking my daughter's life! She's my only child and she means everything to me! I can't let anything happen to her!"

"Mrs Hartley - "

"_Doctor_ Hartley," corrected the woman automatically.

"Dr Hartley, I'm sorry, but if you're not prepared to help us then there's very little we can do to help you," said Bernice, sighing. "However, we're hoping to recruit extra officers soon, and hopefully then we'll be able to offer you some assistance. Until then, you should give serious consideration to hiring a bodyguard for your daughter and making further improvements to the security at your home. If you change your mind and feel able to contact us with information regarding this matter at a later date, or if there is any change in circumstances that gives you further cause for concern, we will of _course _begin an investigation and do our best to offer extra protection to you and your family. If you'd like to give us your details in the meantime, we can put them on file and perhaps raise the matter of extra patrols in the neighbourhood with the Chief - "

"Oh, forget it," said the woman hopelessly, taking off her glasses and wiping her eyes. "I don't know why my husband and I bother paying our taxes, because you won't even help us when we need you most… all I can say is that if anything happens to my daughter now that you've refused to protect her, then I will personally - "

"Ma'am, at this point I must draw to your attention the fact that the RPD is not prepared to tolerate any threats made against its employees," said Bernice wearily. It had obviously been a long day, Amber thought. "And I should also add that - "

"That the entire police force is a complete and utter waste of space!" the woman burst out suddenly, slamming the palm of her right hand down on the wooden counter. "You won't help me, or my little girl, so who _are _you going to help? We're not the only family in grave danger, you know! If these people get their way, then we're _all _going to hell in a handbasket!"

"Ma'am, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said Bernice shortly.

"Well, you won't have to ask twice," snapped the woman. "The hell with you all. I guess I'll just have to sort out this whole mess myself, as usual…!"

Fuming, she left the foyer, rudely pushing aside a rookie officer on her way out. The front doors slammed shut behind her. Bernice glared at the closed doors, then returned to the pile of papers that she'd been annotating, in a mood that looked nothing less than filthy.

"Rough day, huh?" said Amber on her way past the desk.

"Don't even talk to me about it," came the decidedly grouchy reply.

"Boy, that good," murmured Amber to herself, as she left the building. "We should all be so lucky, Bernice. Maybe you ought to try dealing with David Ford and an angry Chris sometime, give you something to _really _complain about…"

She stepped out into the warm embrace of twilight. The air earlier had been thick with summer heat, but the onset of darkness had brought cooler air with it, which Amber was glad of; the west office had been uncomfortably stuffy that afternoon.

It was still light, and after getting herself hopelessly lost on the subway that morning, Amber had no intention of repeating the experience, so she decided to take a shortcut through the back streets of the neighbourhood.

_It__'__s quite a walk, _she thought to herself, as she turned right in the courtyard and cut through a small grassy area on her way to the side gate. _But what the hell. I could do with the exercise, and it__'__ll give me a chance to see what__'__s been going on in this part of town lately._

The gate's rusting hinges screeched as she pulled open the gate and closed it again behind her. She was now standing in a street lined with various small businesses, mostly closed for the night. Further down she could see a liquor store, one of the few stores still open this late, and on the left side of the street was the pavement café, _Le Jardin Des Ratons_, the umbrellas on the tables now furled and the chairs stacked neatly on top of the tables. It had been closed for about an hour, but there was one light still on somewhere in the building; Amber guessed that the owner was probably in the back, doing paperwork or counting up the day's takings.

The street was completely deserted, and she couldn't decide whether it was eerily quiet here or merely very peaceful. She eventually decided that it was peaceful and carried on towards another gate, this one set in a wall at the far end of the street. It led to a dark alley, but one that had never held any fears for her. She'd taken this route countless times, at all hours of the day and night, and not once had she ever encountered any problems.

Graffiti had been daubed all along the brick walls of the alley. There were slogans and some crude pictures - some of which were very crude indeed - but mostly there were names, and dates, stretching back across the decades.

The older graffiti had either faded to near-invisibility or been obscured by newer tags, but Amber could still spot a few familiar pieces, here and there. She knew that officially she was meant to adopt a zero-tolerance attitude to vandalism, but secretly she quite liked seeing the graffiti in places like this. It served as a kind of transient record of the city's more recent history, a temporary testament to those who had gone before. Kids would hang out here with their friends, write their names on the walls to prove that they were there and that they existed. Then they'd grow up, get jobs, marry and have children of their own, and forget all about the times they'd spent in this place, but their names would stay here, so the next generation could read the names on the wall and remember the kids who had been there before them. People came and went, but the names and dates endured - for long enough, anyway.

Her lips curved upwards in a fond smile of recognition as she saw the names painted on the far wall of the alley. It had been years since they'd inscribed their names here, but the paint was still as vivid as it had always been. More vivid than it had any right to be, after all these years…

The memories were a little blurry around the edges, but if she half-closed her eyes and cast her thoughts back, she could still see the twin boys standing there, angelic-looking and as blond as sunshine, one grinning mischievously as the other concentrated, the tip of his tongue protruding just a little as he finished the last letter.

Alex and Joel. And standing next to them, the stocky figure of Mikey, running his hand nervously through his short dark hair and worrying about what his mom would say if she found out he'd been writing on walls - because his name was there too, written small and cautiously on one of the other walls, half-hidden amid all the other names and as unobtrusive as white paint on an old, stained red-brick wall could possibly be. It sort of defeated the purpose of graffiti, but Mikey always had been the kind of boy worried about taking up too much space in the world, or receiving any more from life than he thought he was entitled to. Oh yes, Mikey had been a worrier, though he had a life he could be quietly confident in now.

"You worry too much, Mikey!"

That was Kevin's voice, ringing in her ears, although the words were ten years old now and had come from a much younger boy, leaning casually against the wall, drinking a bottle of dime-store soda and half-laughing as he spoke. His name had been there too, painted in thin letters but spread halfway across the long wall - Kevin was the type who liked painting his name big, perhaps a little bigger than it needed to be. He'd been growing his hair long at the time, and he'd taken up smoking for a little while because he'd thought it would impress the girls, but he'd stopped when Amber had told him matter-of-factly that he was an idiot.

"You're going to get sick from the smoke, you know. It'll get stuck in your chest and kill you _dead_. You do know that, don't you?"

That voice had been hers, loud and piercing, with a slight lisp due to new braces. She'd never known when to keep her mouth shut, but the boys had never minded much. Alex and Joel would argue back sometimes, or pull on her pigtails to make her yowl if she was really being annoying that day; Mikey would look anxious and try to reprimand her as inoffensively as he could, but Kevin usually just laughed and let her comments pass him by.

She'd written on the wall that day too, giggling nervously and looking over her shoulder every five seconds, wondering if she'd get into trouble but not really caring too much, as long as her mother never got to hear about it. Like Mikey, she'd tried to half-hide it amid all the other scrawled names, but like Kevin, she couldn't resist making it stand out among the rest at the same time. It had been one name among dozens, but she'd painted it a little bolder to make it count, to make sure that it wouldn't be covered up easily.

And it hadn't been, either. She could still see the letters written there, small and faded with time but still clear - "AMBER B", with a date in the late Eighties that she didn't care to examine any closer, because she felt old enough just remembering the day she'd first written it. Mikey's was a little indistinct with age, time and another layer of graffiti laid over the top, but Kevin's still stood out, and Alex and Joel's names looked as though they'd been painted yesterday - maybe they'd come back to go over it again the last time they came home to visit, she thought. Neither of them had really grown up, and it would be just the kind of thing they'd do.

The E in her name was a lot paler than the other letters, and Amber wondered why this one had faded more than the rest. She almost wished that there was something she could do about it, but police officers didn't paint graffiti on walls, and that was that.

She turned to walk away and heard a crunch underfoot. Looking down, she could see a small piece of chalk that had broken beneath the weight of her footstep. She picked up one of the fragments and held it between forefinger and thumb, then looked thoughtfully at the wall.

Well, it was chalk, after all. Surely that wouldn't be a crime - she and her colleagues were allowed to do chalk outlines on floors, weren't they? And since graffiti was a crime, then it probably wouldn't hurt to draw an outline around part of the crime scene…

Feeling a little guilty but secretly thrilled to be keeping a piece of a happy childhood memory alive for a little longer, Amber pressed the tiny point of chalk against the brick wall and started filling in the faded letter. She had almost finished when she heard a shout go up behind her.

"Hey!"

Amber jumped, and the chalk stub flew from her fingers as she whipped her head round to see who had shouted. Red shame was already starting to flood her cheeks, undeniable proof of her guilty conscience.

Standing at the far end of the alley, eclipsing Alex and Joel's names, were two familiar-looking teenagers in street clothes. One was a short boy in jeans and a blue hooded top, his blond hair almost invisible beneath a navy-blue Yankees cap. The other, a girl, had chipped red polish on her fingernails and the worst dye job that Amber had ever seen - her hair was platinum blond but the mousy roots of her hair were showing, and there were darker streaks that looked completely out of place. She was wearing a bright purple halterneck top with blue denim hot-pants and shabby sneakers, and the trailer-trash look was finished off with gold hoop earrings, several thick gold necklaces and two over-large gold rings, none of which appeared to be made from real gold.

"I thought the pigs didn't want graffiti everywhere," remarked the boy to his friend, grinning at Amber's obvious embarrassment. "Turns out they're as bad as us, huh, Tiff?"

"Oh, shut up, Ritch," said the girl disapprovingly. "It's only Officer Bernstein, and she's not a pig. She's nice to us. So's Officer Ryman. They're the only ones who even bother to treat us like actual people, so hush your mouth, unless you want her to leave you in a jail cell the next time we all get hauled in for doin' nothin'."

"This one used to be mine," said Amber sheepishly, feeling her blush deepen as they stared at her - they were obviously awaiting an explanation. "I did this when I was a kid back in the Eighties. Officer Ryman's got his name here somewhere too. We used to hang out with a couple of other downtown kids and we all wrote our names in this alley."

"Is that right?" said the blonde girl, with a broad grin. "You get in trouble for it?"

"Nah," said Amber, relaxing. "Nobody really cares about this place, to be honest. This is Paint Can Alley; all the kids used to write their names here back in the day. They still do, by the look of things. Street Rats, right?"

The girl nodded abruptly.

"Yeah, but you know that anyway," interrupted the boy, before his friend could speak. "You must've seen us enough times."

Amber smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "Uh… let me think, you're Ritchie, aren't you? Ritchie Hale? And your friend's Tiffany Ward, am I right? And you both live in upstairs apartments on Hinterland Avenue, a few doors down from Marco Alvarez and his brother."

The boy and girl both looked taken aback.

"Wow, you really do know all the skaters," said Ritchie, with a touch of startled admiration.

"I should think so too, I've lived in downtown all my life and I used to hang out with the PriMadonnas a lot when I was a kid," said Amber.

The two teenagers looked even more amazed.

"The PriMadonnas? Whoa," said Ritchie, trying not to let his jaw drop. "You ever meet that guy, the one that died?"

Amber shuddered briefly as a memory surfaced, but she pushed it back down. It wasn't something that she wanted to remember.

"Dmitri Marovski," she said. "Yeah, I knew him. Nice guy, kind of moody, but he was the best damn skater I've ever seen. It was his life, and I guess it was kind of his death as well. They still call him the Dark Skater?"

"Yeah," said Ritchie. "People say his ghost still hangs round the spot where he got killed. An' if you see it, you die too."

Amber snorted.

"People say lots of things," she said. "But I don't believe in ghosts. Dmitri's dead and buried, and his soul's gone to wherever it is that souls go. Heaven or Hell, I don't know, that's up to him, but don't you go telling stories about that poor boy. You let him rest in peace."

Ritchie just shrugged.

"You on duty, Officer B?" said Tiffany, changing the subject quickly.

"No, I'm on my way home for the night," Amber replied.

"Cool. You want to hang with us for a while?" offered Tiffany, and Ritchie turned to glare at her, but she just shrugged. "Hey, Ritch, chill, she's like an honorary skater anyway."

"No thanks, Tiffany, I've had a really long day and I just want to get to bed right now," said Amber, inwardly touched by the invitation. "But thank you for asking. I might take you up on that some other time."

"Sure," said Tiffany. "You an' Officer Ryman can hang with us whenever you want."

"Thanks," said Amber.

Tiffany and Ritchie nodded, and Amber followed them as they went back the way they'd come - there was a right turning at the end of the alley which was blocked by a dumpster, but they just climbed over it and kept on going. Amber clambered over the waist-high dumpster - was it even a dumpster? She didn't really know what it was - and carried on until she reached the overpass.

To the best of her knowledge, the overpass had always been there. It ran along the end of the defunct red-brick building like a balcony, with steps at either end leading down into the alleys. Perhaps it had started life as a fire escape, but now it was mostly used as a shortcut. Later on, someone had had the bright idea of using it for advertising space, so now both the side of the overpass and the end of the building was covered in billboards and hoardings for products and local businesses.

Oh… and of course, it was a good place for the skater kids to hang out. Tiffany and Ritchie had just joined three more of their compatriots, who were lounging against the brick wall and passing around a bottle of tequila. Amber quietly decided to have a word with their mothers at some point, but said nothing, instead preferring to give them a cheery wave.

"Hey guys," she said warmly. "How's it going?"

The other three Street Rats greeted her with considerable enthusiasm, perhaps more than they usually would have. Amber put it down to the tequila.

"Great!" exclaimed a tall, handsome Hispanic boy, whose jet-black hair had been cut surfer-style, to match his baggy jeans and open red Hawaiian shirt. He started to giggle helplessly, but then his giggles gave way to hiccups.

"Jeez, Raphael, you've had way too much of this shit," said one of the other boys scornfully, taking the bottle from his hand and downing about half of what was left in one long swig. He couldn't have looked more unlike his friend - this boy was wearing a thrash metal t-shirt and black jeans covered in chains, and his hair had been dyed bright red and gelled up into spikes - but that was the beauty of the Street Rats, thought Amber. There was probably no other group of people in the whole world so culturally diverse, but somehow they all got along beautifully. As a model for a truly fair and tolerant society, they were exemplary, except maybe for the tequila-drinking and fist-fights with the uptown kids, who seemed bent on making life even harder for their counterparts in downtown than it already was.

"Mitch," said the third person, a pretty, willowy blonde girl with a thick French accent. She was wearing a baby-blue dress, strappy white sandals and a cute little blue beret, and looked about as far from being a skater as it was possible to get. "Have you any more of the tequila left?"

"Sure thing, Columbine," said Mitch, and he passed the bottle over to the girl. Columbine downed most of what was left with surprising and unladylike ease, then thrust the bottle in Amber's direction.

"Uh, no thanks, honey," said Amber quickly.

Columbine just shrugged, and passed the bottle towards Tiffany and Ritchie, who immediately began fighting over the dregs.

"Where are the others?" Amber asked, looking around. The Street Rats numbered at least fifteen, and there appeared to be no sign of the other ten.

"Playin' basketball," answered Mitch. "Apart from Jack. I don't know where he is."

"I do," said Tiffany, rolling her eyes. "He's with that uptown girl he won't ever shut up talkin' 'bout. Her parents hate the sight of him but he just ain't gonna give up chasin' her. Don't know why he bothers, he's never gonna get with that girl. But no, he won't spend any time with us if he thinks he can run off after _Lisa_."

Tiffany made kissy-faces at the air and the others all burst out laughing.

"Ah, Jack's all right," said Mitch mildly, as the laughter subsided. "Kind of a dreamer, but he's all right. Just hate to see him tryin' so hard to get that girl an' gettin' nowhere. He likes her way too much for his own good."

There was a general murmuring of agreement from the others. Amber took this as her cue to leave, and said goodbye. She saw Raphael wave after her, then he burst out laughing for no reason and fell sideways, to the amusement of the others.

The laughter followed Amber down the steps and all the way along the other graffiti-daubed alley, only dying away when she opened the gate at the other end and stepped out into the basketball court.

More laughter and shouts of exhilaration rang out through the air. Amber had been expecting to see a lot of activity on the other side of the gate, but she hadn't been quite prepared for the basketball. She managed to reach up and catch it just before she got hit in the face.

"Sorry, Officer B!" she heard somebody call. "Didn't see you there!"

Amber peered out from behind the basketball and saw a Hispanic girl in jeans and a peach shirt, brushing her dreadlocks out of her eyes.

"Sorry," she repeated. "Roland got kind of carried away."

"Hey, that wasn't me!" protested a brown-haired boy with glasses and a blue sweatshirt that didn't really go with his cargo pants. "That was Eduardo, wasn't it?"

"No way!" said a tall and rather moody-looking Hispanic boy, scowling at the other boy. "You blame me for everythin'. That was Marco an' you know it."

"Yeah, whatever," scoffed yet another Hispanic boy, whom Amber knew to be Marco Alvarez. "Alena, you gotta stop blamin' people for your screw-ups."

"But it wasn't my screw-up," argued the girl with dreadlocks. "That was one of you guys, you bumped into me an' put off my aim! I would've got that if _you_ hadn't - "

"Oh, shut your face, Alena," an Australian girl with frizzy brown hair said shortly, and Amber suddenly remembered talking to her about who had started the fight between the uptown and downtown kids. "Just get on with it, will you? Officer Bernstein, can you throw the ball back to Eduardo? We'll start over an' maybe we can play fair this time, right?"

Amber tossed the ball back to Eduardo and the game began again in earnest. As the yells of "Throw it to me!" and "Hey, over here!" sounded out again, Amber took a moment to look around.

Surrounded on all sides by alleyways and cheap housing, the basketball court had always been a place of disputed ownership; the skater gangs had fought over this for years until someone had finally declared it neutral territory. Things had been a lot easier since this decision, and some of the gangs even played relatively friendly basketball games with each other instead of fighting in the streets, spraying over each others' tags or bickering over turf. A bunch of the artistically-talented PriMadonnas had spray-painted a colourful mural by the basketball hoop, entitled "Above Rim" and depicting a small green alien playing basketball. There was still plenty of gang graffiti on the brick walls of the court, but the message had changed since the last one was sprayed - the presence of all the tags in one place indicated that it belonged to them all now, and that everybody was welcome here, no matter which group they belonged to.

There were a few wooden benches set up against the walls. Cheering on their friends from one were a very handsome blond boy in jeans and a green shirt, and a pretty girl with big almond-shaped eyes and long golden hair, who was dressed in baby-pink from head to toe. She remembered their names as being Valerio and Almond - both very pretty names, although she wasn't entirely convinced that Almond was a sensible name for a girl. There was an older boy too, maybe nineteen or twenty, and Amber recognised him as Marco's big brother Antonio, a charming and well-dressed young man who was so laid-back that he was almost upside-down.

And then, standing next to the wall by the gate, was the other Street Rat. He had a dark complexion and was said to be from somewhere in Latin America, although nobody really knew much about his past. His real name - at least, she'd been told that it was his real name, though personally she believed otherwise - was in the police files, but apparently he never used it. Known to all as "Batman" and always dressed for some reason in orange clothes and a matching bandanna, the strange and enigmatic teenage boy never seemed to say very much, but she was aware that whatever he had to say was probably worth listening to.

"Hey, Batman," she said kindly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "What's up?"

The boy turned round, but his eyes seemed to be looking through her, not at her. He just stared at some invisible point in the distance, then discarded the empty can of spray-paint that he'd been holding. Amber noticed wet white paint glistening on the wall, and frowned.

"Batman, you really shouldn't be doing that," she told him firmly. "If I catch you or any of the others doing that again, I'll make you scrub that wall until there isn't a speck of paint left on it. I'll let it go this time, nobody's really going to notice an extra tag in this place anyway, but next time I - "

The next word froze in her throat as she saw what the boy had written. Across the wall, in large and desperate-looking letters, were the words:

"THIS TOO SHALL PASS"

She didn't know why, but something in the words unnerved her to her very core. Perhaps it was the apocalyptic, almost Biblical phrasing, or perhaps it was the strange sense of menace the words themselves conveyed. She had no idea what the words actually meant, but she had a horrible feeling that it wasn't anything good.

"Why did you write that?" she demanded to know, feeling stupid for being so scared by a piece of graffiti and for not having a clue what it meant. "What does it mean?"

The boy just shook his head, refusing to speak.

"Hey Batman!" called the others, putting down the basketball and gathering by the chain link fence that stretched along the far side of the court. "We're goin' home now! See you tomorrow!"

Batman nodded curtly in response to his friends, waved to the rest of the Street Rats, who had come down from the overpass shortly afterwards and announced that they too were going home, then he returned his blank gaze to Amber.

"I asked you a _question_," said Amber, her voice shaking just a little as she pointed to the new piece of graffiti gleaming on the wall. The frustration wasn't as bad as the terror of the unknown, but neither was helping her new state of mind very much. "What do those words mean?"

The boy shook his head again.

"You don't know? Or don't you want me to know?" said Amber, but Batman merely shrugged.

She was beginning to wonder if this was nothing but an attempt to freak her out, but that didn't make any sense. She'd met Batman a few times before and he'd always seemed friendly enough, if extremely quiet. Scaring somebody or trying to mess with their mind just didn't seem like the kind of thing that he'd do. No, this was probably for real, but what did he mean by it?

"What does this mean, Batman?" Amber tried again, with a more concerted attempt at patience. "What will pass? And what will pass after that?"

Batman still said nothing. He seemed to be in a trance-like state, but it didn't look as though it had anything to do with paint fumes or illegal substances - he just didn't seem to want to talk, or do anything except stare at nothing in particular while behind his eyes, his mind worked overtime.

"What will pass, Batman? Tell me what it means," she urged him, with increasing desperation.

This time, Batman shook his head and started to walk away.

"Wait! Batman, I want to know what this means!" Amber called after him. "Please, tell me what it means! What's going to happen? Is it something bad? Is there something wrong, something that you want to talk to me about? Because if there is, you know you can talk to me or Officer Ryman any time - "

But Batman had already closed the gate in the chain link fence behind him, leaving Amber to stand alone in the basketball court and wonder why the air seemed much colder and the dark sky suddenly more ominous and cloudy. She didn't know what was going wrong with the world that she thought she'd known and understood, and this was bothering her deeply.

"What will pass?" she said softly to herself, staring at the graffiti again as the wind blew through the basketball court, ruffling her hair and wafting a few fallen flyers from the walls across the expanse of concrete. "Is this a prophecy or a warning? What will pass… and in addition to what?"

Much later, she would wish that she had never asked the question. For now, though, she could only stare and wonder as the wind blew papers along the ground, chasing away all the little pieces of the past and consigning them to eventual oblivion in all the gutters and corners of the world beyond the walls.


	10. Getting The Picture: Part 1

**10: Getting The Picture - Part One**

**Sunday 16th August, 1998**

Amber leaned against the doorframe and sighed. It had been a long day. Admittedly, it was only nine forty-five in the morning, but some days just started out long. By the look of things, this one wasn't going to get much shorter any time soon.

The slightly crackly and insistent voice from the other end of the phone was starting to get on her nerves. She gripped the receiver a little tighter to vent her frustration.

"… look, Jill, it wasn't my _intention _to stay home from work again today," she said. She was trying hard to sound calm, but a perverse little part of her psyche wanted her irritation to show through, just a little, so that her best friend would get the message and stop arguing back. "What, you think I don't have better things to do than stick around my apartment all day? The only reason I'm here is because the plumber's here, and before that I had to go visit the pest-control guy again - the check didn't go through the first time because I spelled the guy's name wrong. It wasn't my fault, I hadn't seen it written down before and he's Russian, or Polish or something. No name should have that many Zs and Ks in it…"

Jill's voice grew louder in Amber's ear. She grimaced and held the phone away from her head for a moment, then returned it.

"… I _know_! Jeez, I already said I was sorry about the report! I _know _you guys needed it this morning, but I called Rita last night and told her to bring it up to you today when - what? Well how the hell was I supposed to know she's still off sick? She said she was coming in today! Why is it my fault if she didn't? What? _I_ don't know! Why don't you go ask her yourself?"

There was an indignant response from the other end of the line. Amber glanced out of the kitchen doorway at her brother, who was sitting on the couch and playing video games on the console that he'd insisted on bringing with him from home.

"Jason?" she said, and snorted rudely. "Are you _kidding _me? Since when has anyone in my family _ever _been able to rely on my brother to answer the door, or take phone calls, or make sure the plumber doesn't take the TV in lieu of payment - uh, no offence," she added hastily, to the pair of legs sticking out from underneath her kitchen sink.

"None taken," came a gruff voice from somewhere amid the pipes.

"I mean, do you _seriously _expect me to leave my brother alone in my apartment to take care of things for an entire day?" said Amber, returning her attention to the phone. "You know what happened after he got here? Within twenty minutes of walking through the front door, he'd worked his way through half a loaf of bread, drunk all the milk, broken my toaster and claimed my couch as his own personal space… and I'm still trying really hard not to think about what he did to the bathroom. And that was just in the first twenty minutes. Can you imagine what he'd do if I left him to his own devices for a whole _day_? By the time I got back from work, the whole place would probably be on fire! And I'm _not _about to let him wreck my apartment and get kicked out by my landlady just because you wanted me to pick up some paperwork for you! Come on, I - "

Amber winced at the sound of an explosion and a triumphant whoop from her brother, and she pressed the receiver closer to her ear.

"Sorry, Jason hasn't heard about this thing called the volume button yet," she said. "What did you say? Oh, so this is the part where I shouldn't have let my brother come to stay with me in the first place, huh? Jill, we've _been_ through this…"

They'd been through it twice, in fact, and Amber let the recollections flow back as Jill scolded her on the phone about failing to find Jason a safe place to stay. The truth was that there really wasn't anywhere else for Jason to stay now. He'd spent Monday night at Marvin's house, Tuesday night at Tim's penthouse apartment in Whitchley, Wednesday night at David McGraw's place and, once she'd bribed him with an Agatha Christie autobiography that she'd found in her parents' basement, Thursday night at Mark's house. Afterwards, two of the men had asked her very politely not to bring him back - ever.

The other two, she recalled glumly, had begged.

On Friday night, Jason had stayed at Kevin's, an arrangement which Amber had been entirely comfortable with. Their shared passion for video games and all things televised meant that Kevin and Jason had always got on well together, and she'd been sure that Kevin would be more than able to keep her brother safe. However, when she'd come to pick Jason up the next day, she'd found a drunken Kevin still arguing with her brother about who had won the last game of _Ultimate Extreme Wrestling VII -_ apparently oblivious to the fact that Jason had long since passed out on the couch. She'd yelled at Kevin for a full five minutes before telling him crossly that he was much too irresponsible to look after her little brother, and that she was taking Jason straight back to her apartment to recover.

She'd been true to her word, and when Jason finally came round and stumbled into the kitchen in search of something to counteract the effects of his hangover, Amber had decided that the best place for her brother was her own apartment.

As she'd expected, Barry and the others had objected to this new arrangement, but Amber had put her foot down. Not one of the people that Jason had stayed with was willing to take him back, she'd told them, and after the Kevin incident, she didn't trust anyone else to look after him properly. After all, she'd said, if she couldn't protect her brother from Umbrella, then who could?

They'd given in, after some argument, and now Jason was safely ensconced in her apartment, spending his weekend watching TV, playing video games and making himself endless sandwiches. It was nowhere near an ideal arrangement, she knew, but at least it was better than the alternatives…

"… why the hell are you so pissed-off with me, anyway?" said Amber impatiently. "I know you and the others are stressed because of all this, but you're not the only ones with problems! You guys think bullets are bad? Try having a kitchen full of poisonous spiders sometime, see what _that _does for your morale! They're after me too, you know! No, I _don__'__t _expect you to apologise for not having had spiders in your apartment. Don't be stupid. I just wish you could stop taking everything I say so damn personally - "

There was a loud scream from the TV, accompanied by another explosion and a yell of "_Die, bitches!_" from her usually placid and good-natured brother.

"Jason, shut up! I'm on the phone!" Amber yelled in his general direction, then returned to the conversation. "What? All right, fine, but you really could have picked a better time to quit smoking. I've never heard you sound so disgruntled in your whole life. You sound like _Chris_."

There was a long pause as the immediate future hung in the balance. Amber wondered if perhaps this had been a bad thing to say, but then there was a faint snort of amusement from the other end of the line.

"Okay, so have we accepted that it's not me at fault, it's just you being cranky and irritable without your nicotine fix?" said Amber dryly, before Jill could say anything. "Right, that's settled, then. Apology accepted. Now before you find something else to yell at me about, I have a favour to ask you. Is David Ford around? No? Good. There's a manila envelope in the darkroom downstairs. I need you to get it for me and put it on my desk, preferably in the middle of a big pile of papers so nobody'll see it. _Don__'__t _let him catch you doing it. Oh, and I'd like you to look up some contact details for me…"

Several minutes passed. When Amber had finished scribbling the name, address and phone number on the back of yesterday's grocery list, she read them back to Jill, smiled, thanked her friend, and hung up the phone. She glanced quickly at the plumber, who was doing something complicated to the sink, then went through into the living room.

Her brother was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bag of potato chips on his lap, playing an incredibly noisy video game. His hair was tousled with sleep and he hadn't bothered to get dressed yet - unless wearing a pair of socks, some faded boxer shorts, and a t-shirt with a car-chomping cartoon dinosaur and the words "Godzilla Is My Homeboy" printed on the front counted as "dressed".

"Dude, this game sucks," he announced, as she sat down beside him. "That's like the eighth time I've died this morning. They don't give you enough time, there's only three power-ups, and then they spring a whole bunch of king-aliens on you right at the end of the level. It's totally lame."

"What are you playing?" said Amber curiously, her earlier irritation forgotten.

"Some game your buddy Kevin lent me," said Jason, tossing her the box. "Not the original, you can't get those any more, and even if you could, they don't work on the new consoles. Kevin said they reissued it specially for this platform."

Amber examined the box with mild interest, and smiled a little when she saw the title. _Zardok & Booty__'__s Adventures In Outer Space _had been a cult classic back in the Eighties; she and Kevin had played it for hours on end as children, and even now it was still Kevin's favourite game. She'd been reliably informed that he was now trying to beat the world's all-time high score, although by the sound of it, he wasn't having much luck; Kevin's enthusiasm for video games had never quite made up for his total lack of gaming aptitude.

"He said to give it back to you when I was done, but I don't think I'll ever finish it," Jason continued, switching off the console and picking up the remote. He pressed a button and the news channel came up. "Level Five is being really gay."

But Amber wasn't listening to him any more.

" - _witness statements indicate that attacks from wild animals are on the increase, with eight of the ten most recent incidents taking place within the city limits,__"_ announced the newsreader, and Amber's mouth opened a little in shock._"__Now, we have in the studio with us today an employee from the Raccoon City sewage treatment facility, Mr Jacob Miles, who claims to have seen a giant alligator while carrying out maintenance work in the sewer tunnels beneath the city. Mr Miles, can you tell us exactly what happened?__"_

Amber's mouth was now wide open. The camera had just panned across to a man in overalls, who was sitting in the studio and solemnly telling the kind of story that she would have dismissed as nonsense three months ago. She wasn't unduly surprised by the story; what was more surprising was the man's identity.

_Jacob Miles__…__ now there__'__s a piece of bad news._

She hadn't recognised him at first. By the look of things, the past few months had been unkind to the former STARS member - there was a fresh scar on his right cheek, as well as the older one fading on his forehead, and he looked much paler and thinner in the face than she'd remembered. His hair was a different colour, too, and cropped so close to his head that he was practically bald. As if this wasn't enough, he appeared to have broken his nose in the time since he'd left the precinct, and his once-youthful face now looked tired and heavily-lined.

_That__'__s what drugs will do to you, Milesy_, she reflected silently. _You really should have listened back in school when the teachers told you that drugs were bad_._ If you had, then you__'__d never have got yourself kicked out of STARS. What, did you think they__'__d never find out? That you were smarter than everyone else? Well, just look at you now. Working up to your knees in raw sewage every day, hooked on God knows what and looking older than my father__…__ yeah, that__'__s a nice career move, Milesy. Real smart. Bet your folks are proud._

"You know that guy, sis?"

Amber blinked, and the world came back into focus. She turned to see her brother watching her closely, with an unusually intent look on his face.

"Huh?" she said.

"You know that guy?" Jason repeated. "Old friend of yours? You look pretty surprised to see him on TV."

"No, I'm just surprised he's working for the sewage company," said Amber, shaking her head. "To tell you the truth, I'm even more surprised that he's still alive. He used to be on the STARS Alpha Team once, but he got kicked out when the others caught him smoking weed at work. By the look of him, I think he's on something a lot harder now."

"Sucks for him," remarked Jason. "I'm going to see what's on the other side, Amb. I hate the news. They never have anything good to say."

"No, they don't," said Amber quietly, as her brother leaned forward and picked up the remote from the coffee table.

Jason froze in the act of grasping the remote control. His normal expression of good-natured aimlessness disappeared; now he looked oddly perturbed.

"You okay, sis?" he said, with sudden concern in his voice. "Only you look kinda scared…"

Amber had been anticipating the question, and though she'd considered telling him the truth about Umbrella and the attacks, she knew that it would only put him in even more danger. While he needed to know what was happening to the city, there was no point scaring him with the full and horrible truth - not until she had to, anyway. Instead, the answer that she'd spent the last few seconds preparing in her head flowed easily from her lips.

"I'm fine," she lied. "I just hate how nobody ever has happy news any more."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Jason agreed, settling back in his seat and changing the channel. "Every day there's like another war, or an earthquake, and a bunch of crime and poverty and suffering and stuff. I mean, I totally understand that people have to know about the news no matter how bad it is, because the dudes who read the news on TV would lose their jobs if they didn't tell us about it, but it's like… come on, we already know how much life sucks. Can't they tell us about something good for a change?"

"Like what?" said Amber, half-watching the succession of images flashing across the TV screen as her brother channel-hopped with practised ease.

"Hell, I don't know," said Jason, flicking past a Spanish-language talk show, two old movies and a home shopping channel. "New stuff being invented, or people being rescued from natural disasters, or somebody suddenly finding their long-lost twin. Or they could have an interview with that dude from my sophomore year - you know, the one who made a plaster cast of his own butt and won first prize with it at the big modern art festival in Rose Bay City, even though it was meant to be a joke entry. You know, cool stuff like that."

"Giant alligators not cool enough for you?" said Amber dryly.

"No way are there giant alligators in the sewers, Amb," said Jason with a dismissive gesture. "It's like you said, that dude's probably on something. And even if he really did see it, a giant alligator's not cool. Hey, if I thought there were giant alligators hanging out in the sewers, I'd never go to the bathroom ever again. Imagine it - one minute you're sitting there reading a magazine, the next minute, "AAAARGH!", you're disappearing down the toilet bowl and all they'd find the next day would be your pants. Hey, remember that time after we saw _Jaws _on TV when we were kids, you told me there was a shark living in the toilet and I was too scared to go for like a week? Mom had to take me to the doctor because she thought I was sick. Boy, was she pissed with you when she found out…"

"Yeah," said Amber, who couldn't help smiling, despite the worry of knowing that the attacks were getting worse and people like Jason were still treating the news as some sort of practical joke. "That was funny."

"How long did she ground you for?" said Jason, now grinning wickedly.

"I can't remember," admitted Amber. "A while, I think. I just remember missing Jill's birthday party and wishing I hadn't scared you so much."

"Serves you right," said Jason, folding his arms and pretending to look affronted. "You scared the shit out of me."

"But I _didn__'__t_, though, that's the whole point," said Amber reasonably, and Jason burst out laughing.

Amber started to laugh too, and as she felt the weight of worry lifting from her shoulders, she realised that it was the first time that she'd laughed out loud in days.

"Hey, here's a good show," said Jason eventually, setting down the remote and pointing to the screen as the rapid procession of various daytime TV shows finally stopped. The presenter looked awfully familiar, and Amber soon recognised it as the same show that Jason had been watching at Brad's apartment.

"_Game 24-Heaven,_ right?" said Amber casually, in a manner that suggested that she was rather more familiar with the show than was actually the case.

"Oh, you watch it too?" said Jason, with an approving nod. "Yeah, it's cool, they show it three times a day on GameZone and GameZone Plus, and the game reviews totally rock. The presenter's awesome, my friend used to live next door to him and they'd both hang out together after school. And get this, the guy's dad knows Mr Ziegler! Coincidence or what?"

"Small world," Amber agreed. "How's work going, anyway?"

"It's going good, but business is kinda slow right now, what with all the attacks and stuff, so most of the time Mr Z and I just chill and talk about music and whatever," said Jason. "How about you?"

"Busy," said Amber, sighing. "I mean _crazy_ busy. Uptown brats picking fights with the skaters, trips up to Winterton to tell a bunch of tenth-graders to quit making so much noise at their house parties, depressed guys trying to throw themselves off buildings, people coming in screaming about attacks…"

She trailed off when she saw that Jason was staring at the TV, having apparently lost interest in what she was saying. She'd thought that a mention of the attacks would pique his interest, but it seemed that he couldn't care less - assuming that he'd even heard her talking at all.

"… _while __"__Angry Astronauts 2: Martian Madness__"__ has its downsides - long loading times, no arcade mode and infuriating bonus levels - it more than makes up for these failings with stunning 3D graphics, great controls and some truly inspired plot twists. We__'__re giving this one a four out of five,_" said the presenter, with a broad grin. "_Oh, and we__'__ve just had some breaking news, folks. The creators of Sonic the Hedgehog have just launched what looks to be an epic legal battle against rival software developers at Pirate Software Inc, over an incident of alleged plagiarism. The dispute began this week just prior to the US launch of Pirate Software__'__s new release, __"__Bubonic The Hedgehog__"__, amid claims that the concept was identical to that of the Sonic the Hedgehog series and constituted a major breach of copyright. Copies of __"__Bubonic The Hedgehog__"__ have since been withdrawn from sale in the US and may also be recalled in Japan, pending judgment by the courts. Pirate Software is continuing to deny the charges, and may even file a countersuit against - __"_

Jason let out a loud wail and buried his face in his hands.

"You _gaylords_!" he moaned. "I already had a copy reserved down at the computer store on 47th! Now I'll never get to play it! I'll be lucky if I even get my money back!"

"Brad's not going to be happy either," said Amber, shaking her head in resignation. "He was really looking forward to getting his hands on that one. He'll be so disappointed when he hears."

"Brad?" said Jason, looking blank. "Who's Brad?"

"You met him last week when Jill drove us over to his apartment," Amber reminded him gently. "Remember? Brown hair, about your height, kind of jumpy? You asked him if you could watch his TV because you were bored."

Jason's face cleared.

"Oh, you mean the gay dude," he said, nodding. "Yeah, I know."

"What?" said Amber, turning to stare at her brother. "What are you talking about? Brad's not gay."

"Sure he is," said Jason, slouching back even more in his seat, and he put his feet up onto his sister's coffee table with a thud.

"What makes you say that?" said Amber, frowning.

"He's thirty-something, single, and he still goes to the movies with his mom," said Jason straight away. "That and he keeps his place cleaner than anyone I've ever seen. What kind of guy puts fresh flowers in his living room, anyway?"

"Maybe somebody who thinks fresh flowers will take people's attention away from the musty smell and the peeling paint, and all the other stuff his landlord won't do anything about," said Amber, rather more defensively than she'd intended. "Besides, what's so gay about keeping your place clean and tidy? Just because _you__'__re _a total slob, it doesn't mean that every other guy on the planet has to be. Keeping your place tidy enough for you to find things isn't some kind of affront to masculinity."

"What? That's crazy talk," said Jason, shaking his head.

Amber was fairly sure he was joking. Then again, it was sometimes hard to tell with her little brother, who could keep an admirably straight face… and of course there was the fact that he hadn't seen his bedroom floor in about five years.

"Oh, and contrary to popular belief, Jason, plenty of guys are still single at thirty," she added. "Most of them just don't want to admit it."

To her slight irritation, Jason simply laughed.

"Nice theory, sis, but I don't think so," he said. "I still say he's the gayest person I've ever seen. Hey, if he's not gay, then I'm Lara Croft."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, Lara," retorted Amber, "but Brad isn't gay."

Jason looked amused by this.

"Yeah? How do you know?" he said, with a smirk. "You sleep with him or something?"

"Of course not!" said Amber, blushing hotly. "He's my friend."

"Gay best friend?"

"No!"

"Why so offended, sis? It's okay for chicks to have a gay best friend."

"Brad isn't gay!"

"Oh? So there's something wrong with being gay now, huh?" Jason teased, poking her in the ribs. "I bet you'd have totally flunked your diversity training class if they knew _that _back at the academy!"

"I never said there was anything wrong with being gay," said Amber indignantly, rubbing her side. "Hell, I don't have a problem with it at all. I get along with gay people just fine. But the fact remains that Brad _isn__'__t _gay, regardless of anybody's feelings on the matter. He's just too shy to ask for a date. And anyway, even if he did pluck up enough courage to ask, his mom would probably scare the poor girl off the minute he brought her over for dinner. Mrs Vickers is one intimidating old lady."

"So he's brought you home to meet the parents already, huh?" laughed Jason. "Wow, you got over that other guy pretty quickly… you picking out bridal patterns yet, Amb? Hell, what am I saying? I bet you've got the bridesmaids all lined up already. Gee, I guess I'd better iron my suit ready for the big day!"

"I thought you were convinced he was gay," shot back Amber, who was trying not to let her hurt feelings show. The comment about "getting over that other guy" had hit home hard, and she suddenly felt sick; she didn't know what was worse, having to spend the rest of her life with only Joseph's memory for company, or the prospect of someone else trying to take his place in her life. Up until now, she'd tried hard not to think about it, but now reality was starting to bite, and it was biting down hard.

"Well, if he's already brought you home to meet his mom, then I guess you proved me wrong, huh?" said Jason, grinning.

"Oh, give it up, Jason, you know perfectly well I'm not with Brad," said Amber impatiently.

Jason grinned again.

"So he _is_ gay, then," he said triumphantly. "I _knew _it!"

Exasperated but nonetheless trying not to laugh, Amber leaned over and gave him a playful shove.

"Shut up, butthead," she told him solemnly.

"Doofus," said Jason, shoving her back.

"Numbskull."

"Asshat."

"Gaylord."

Jason looked positively outraged by this last remark.

"Dude! You can't say that!" he exclaimed. "Gaylord is _my_ word! Using someone's favourite word against them is totally wrong, and you know it! Lay off my word!"

"So it's _your_ word, huh?" said Amber mockingly, grabbing him in a headlock. "Does it have your _name_ on it?"

"Hey, quit it!" Jason protested feebly, trying to break free.

"If it has your _name _on it, then I guess I'll just have to call you Gaylord from now on, won't I?" Amber taunted him, ruffling his untidy curls.

"Agh! Not the hair!" yelled Jason, struggling to free himself. "Quit it, Amber!"

"Okay, okay," laughed Amber, dropping him and getting up from the couch. "I'll leave you alone to style your hair like a big girl. I'll go see how the plumber's doing."

"Yeah, whatever, doofus," said Jason, half-laughing as he tried to push his hair out of his eyes.

"Later, Gaylord," replied Amber, with a smirk, and she headed into the kitchen.

Ten minutes ago, the room had been a mess. Now it was even more of a mess, but the plumber's legs were no longer sticking out from underneath the sink. Amber looked down at the scattered tools and greyish puddles on the floor tiles with mild distaste, and then at the man in grimy beige overalls leaning against the fridge. He was drinking coffee from a Thermos flask, and he acknowledged her presence with a curt nod.

"Your sink's working fine now," he said, in the low, gravelly voice of a heavy smoker. "Don't worry about the mess. I'll clean it up in a second."

"Thank you," said Amber, who had been about to berate the plumber for slacking. She now felt foolish and slightly ashamed of having judged the man so harshly. "That's very kind."

"Nah, I get paid enough to do this job. Doesn't cost extra to clean up my own mess," said the man, shrugging. "I put a new washer on the faucet and I've tightened up a few things underneath, too, just to make sure. Looks okay now. You shouldn't have any more problems with it."

He took another swig from the flask, then put it down heavily on the kitchen table and started picking up his tools from the floor.

"So, how much do I owe you?" said Amber quickly, to bring some sound into the room other than the monotonous clink of wrenches landing in the old brown toolbag beside the sink.

The plumber thought for a moment, then quoted a figure that made Amber blanch.

"Hey, this firm's still the cheapest in town, lady," he said right away, seeing her expression. "May be a little on the steep side from where you're standing, but you won't get a better price than this, believe me. All the other places overcharge for routine jobs like these - and they hike up their call-out fees on Sundays."

"All right, all right," grumbled Amber, reaching for her checkbook. "No need to try the sales pitch on me. I already know how much all the other firms charge. Why do you think I picked you?"

She flipped open the book, took a pen from her shirt pocket, and started writing out a check with great reluctance.

"Who do I make this out to?" she enquired.

The plumber, who was mopping up the puddles on the floor with a ragged towel that he'd found in his bag, looked up and tucked a stray lock of dark, slightly lank hair behind his ear.

"David King," he answered, pushing aside the cloth. He reached up and retied his loosening ponytail, then picked up the damp towel again and continued wiping the floor. "David King Plumbing Co., if you want to get all technical about it."

Amber nodded, and wrote down "David King Plumbing Co.", then filled in the amount due on the next line of the check.

"You heard about that giant alligator down in the sewers?" said David King abruptly, and Amber looked up.

"Yeah," she said, surprised. The man hadn't looked like much of a talker, much less someone inclined towards small talk and gossip. "It was on the news just now."

"Think it's true?"

Amber hesitated.

"It's a possibility," she ventured. "I mean, you hear stories about pets getting flushed down toilets when their owners get fed up with them, and all the chemicals down there probably have some kind of effect. I'm not sure how "giant" an animal could get just from that, though. What do you think?"

"I think it's bullshit," came the reply. "Still, you never know these days. All those stories about attacks and wild animals had to start somewhere. And I've seen some strange people around lately."

Amber's pen stopped halfway through forming a number 5, and she looked up again.

"Strange?" she said. "How do you mean?"

"Bunch of people acting weird in town last night," said the man, rolling up the wet grey towel into a ball and tossing it into his toolbag. "I guess they'd been up all night drinking, because they were staggering all over the place. One or two of them looked like they'd been in a fight - blood everywhere. But even drunk people make some effort to talk, you know? These guys were just grunting and groaning at each other. Like animals."

"What did you do?" said Amber, now agog with curiosity.

The plumber just shrugged, and walked towards the sink.

"Hightailed it out of there before they started causing trouble," he said, turning on a faucet and washing the grime from his hands and arms. "Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I probably would," said Amber quietly, lowering her eyes. She finished copying down the amount in numbers, then looked up a third time.

"So where were you last night?" she asked him.

David King's eyes narrowed.

"Who wants to know?" he said suspiciously, turning off the faucet.

"Officer Amber Bernstein of the RPD," said Amber, unimpressed by the man's belligerent tone. "Look, Mr King, I'm not interested in either your business affairs or your personal life. I don't care what you were doing last night; I just want to know where in town you were when you saw these people, that's all."

The man's scowl remained, but he seemed to relax slightly.

"I was just leaving Fairview," he admitted, rather grudgingly. "Emergency callout. Wouldn't have done any work that late at night, but it was a long-time customer with a flooding bathroom upstairs and they wouldn't have had a ceiling left by tomorrow. I was heading back home when I saw them."

"And you live…?" Amber prompted.

"In Brentford."

"Brentford," said Amber softly, entirely to herself. "Brentford…"

Her thoughts were interrupted by a polite but rather impatient cough from beside the sink, and she suddenly remembered that she still hadn't finished writing the check. Hastily, she scribbled her signature at the bottom and passed it over to the plumber.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, folding the piece of paper in two and pushing it into the breast pocket of his overalls.

"No problem," said Amber, with a helpless little smile. "Thanks for coming out."

David King nodded curtly and picked up his toolbag.

"Well, I got other jobs to do," he said, squeezing past Amber as he headed for the door. "I'll send you an invoice tomorrow, for the records. Give me a call if you have any more problems."

Amber waited until the front door had shut, then she grabbed her purse and went into the living room to fetch her jacket.

"Jason, I'm going to work now," she called. "The answerphone's on, so you don't have to worry about taking any messages. Make sure the door's locked behind me when I go, and if someone knocks at the door, make sure the chain's on before you answer it. Don't leave the apartment, try not to fix anything you break, and don't set fire to anything while I'm gone, okay? No cooking whatsoever. I mean it."

"Will do, Amb," her brother replied.

"You need anything from the store?" said Amber, as she put on her jacket.

"No, I'm good."

"Okay then. I'll see you later."

Amber pulled the door shut behind her, but waited until she heard the sound of the lock click on the other side before leaving. As she walked, she murmured a single word to herself:

"Brentford…"

If what David King had told her was true, then the attacks were beginning to spread even further afield. Until now, the attacks had mostly been concentrated in the more far-flung and disreputable areas of downtown - Fairview, Masefield Park and Little Estonia - with only a few isolated incidents elsewhere. Now the T-Virus was gradually working its way into the rest of the city, and she couldn't help wondering how long it would be before she and her neighbours ended up with attacks happening right on their doorstep. Was nowhere safe?

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber sauntered into the west office with a smile on her face and a cheerful greeting for everybody. Anyone who hadn't known about her recent bereavement would have believed her to be without a care in the world; even those who knew about the loss of her beloved Joseph remarked on how well she seemed to be coping, and how she always put on such a brave face, especially today.

They all knew that the smile wasn't entirely real, and that her boyfriend's death still weighed heavily on her mind. However, only Amber knew that the smile wasn't just a fake one but a nervous fake, and that her heavy heart was currently sitting in her mouth…

She sat down at her desk and gave Joseph's photograph a kiss - a ritual that she'd chosen to adopt soon after finding out that he'd always done the same thing to her picture before starting the day's work. She put the picture back in its usual place, then risked a glance at the pile of paperwork on her desk.

_Hmm__…_

As nonchalantly as possible, she began to flick through the stack of papers. Unfiled reports, forms partially filled-in, coloured carbon copies in five different hues, internal memos, press cuttings, pages and pages of handwritten notes, undelivered mail -

… _aha!_

There it was, sandwiched between a wad of newspaper clippings and a month-old memo reminding staff about amendments to the RPD's health and safety regulations. As promised, the brown envelope had been delivered and hidden so carefully that not a single edge or corner protruded from the pile; so carefully, in fact, that she'd almost overlooked its presence amongst the other documents.

Amber smiled to herself. No matter how difficult the task at hand, she'd always been able to rely on her best friend, and today was no exception. Humming softly, she withdrew the envelope from the pile and slipped it under the desk, so that nobody else could see it.

Yesterday's grocery list came out of Amber's pocket. Amber held the scrap of notepaper between finger and thumb as she picked up the phone. With care, she dialled the number that she'd scrawled on the back, and she awaited the response with bated breath.

"_Hi, this is Bethany,_" said a young woman's voice brightly._"__I can__'__t come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, I__'__ll call you back as soon as I can! Thanks!__"_

"Damn it," muttered Amber. She'd always hated answering machines, and usually she put the phone down if she couldn't speak to a human being. Still, this was important, so she gritted her teeth and forced herself to say:

"Hi, this is Lieutenant Bernstein from the Raccoon Police Department. I was wondering if I could speak to you about the photos that you submitted to us a few days ago. We believe that one of them may contain vital evidence regarding, uh, an assault in Brentford, and any assistance that you could offer us would be very much appreciated. If you could get in touch with us as soon as possible, that would - "

She was interrupted mid-flow by a muffled click on the other end of the line.

"_Hello?_" said a rather breathless voice on the other end. "_I__'__m sorry, I just got out of the shower and I didn__'__t hear the phone. You__'__re calling from the RPD, right? About the photos?__"_

"Yes, that's right," said Amber, quietly glad that she was speaking to the real Bethany Rove and not just a tinny voice recording.

"_Which one?_"

Amber glanced up automatically as the door opened at the far side of the room. To her horror, David Ford was walking in, and he didn't look at all happy.

"I'm… not at liberty to say right now," she said awkwardly. David was giving her a very odd look; she was convinced that he could somehow see right through the desk to the stolen envelope on her lap. Uncomfortably aware of his gaze, she tried surreptitiously to pin the envelope to the underside of the desk with her knees, so that he couldn't catch sight of it even by chance. "But I think you know which one I'm talking about."

"_The zombie photo, right?_" Bethany guessed, correctly. "_Yeah, I figured that was the one you guys would be interested in. Everybody already knows about Mayor Warren__'__s boy Tony and how he__'__s always dropping by to see Catalina Guerrada and the girls at the Purple Puma Club. And as for that car crash last Thursday, it was Sherilee Burns__'__ fault - you know, the sub-editor of the Raccoon Weekly Advertiser? She was all over the road and the other guy couldn__'__t avoid her in time. Too many liquid lunches with the union reps, I think.__"_

"Of course," agreed Amber right away, although she hadn't actually known either of these things. She decided to have a look through the other photographs as soon as the opportunity arose. She knew that Officer Sam Bergman from the Vice Squad would probably be interested in the first case, and Officer Amy Giles, who had been struggling for several days to extract anything resembling the truth from the crash incident, would almost certainly appreciate some conclusive evidence at this stage in the proceedings.

"Hey, Amber," said David Ford's voice behind her. She turned to look and saw him standing near the evidence room door, with folded arms and a very disgruntled expression.

"Yes, David?" she said, putting her hand over the phone receiver.

"You seen my photos?" he said, with a hint of accusation in his voice. "The ones I showed you on Thursday, in the manila envelope? I left them in the darkroom last night and now I can't find them anywhere."

"No, sorry, I haven't seen them," Amber lied, very self-consciously. "Did you check the office? Maybe you left them in there somewhere."

David looked reluctant to let go of his hypothesis, but he nodded stiffly.

"All right, I'll check again," he said.

Amber breathed out slowly as he left the room. Once he'd gone, she redirected her attention to the phone.

"Sorry about that," she told the woman. "Anyway, Miss Rove, I'd like to talk to you about that picture, if that's at all possible. Could you come down to the station sometime today, so we can take a witness statement?"

"_I already gave a statement_," came the curt reply. "_The officer who took it down was trying not to laugh the whole way through. If the guy didn__'__t tear it up the moment I left, then it__'__s probably still on file somewhere. Read it and weep.__"_

Amber sighed.

"All right, Miss Rove, I'll find the statement and read it through, but I really do need to talk to you in person about this."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"_Tell you what_," said Bethany Rove suddenly. "_Why don__'__t you come and meet me in town somewhere, and we can talk about it over coffee? I__'__m heading into town anyway, I__'__ve got an assignment to do this afternoon. Shall we say eleven-fifteen, at Fiorelli__'__s? And bring the photos_."

"I - "

"_Okay, I__'__ll see you there_," interrupted Bethany. "_Ciao_."

The phone went dead. Amber took the receiver away from her ear and glared at it, then slammed it down hard.

"Something wrong, Amb?" called Tim, from across the room.

Amber sighed.

"You could say that," she said. "I've got a pile of work to do and one of my contacts wants to meet me in - oh, about ten minutes," she finished, after a quick look up at the clock on the wall. "Don't know how I'm going to get there in time."

"You're leaving already?" said Tim, amused. "You only just got here."

"I know," said Amber wearily. "To tell you the truth, I'd much rather stay here and get on with things, but I think this might be important."

"Well, tell you what," said Tim, getting up from his desk. "I'm due to go on patrol in fifteen. You want me and Bob to give you a ride?"

"Where are you heading?" said Amber, feeling her heart lift a little.

"Heading through Coburg and into Central City," said Tim. "Where are you meeting your contact?"

"Fiorelli's, down on Main Street."

"Perfect," said Tim, and he tucked his chair neatly under his desk. "Come on, let's go get Bob from the east office. I'm pretty sure he won't mind leaving a little early. Kingsley can do his own damn paperwork for once, instead of foisting it off on Jodie or some other poor sucker too nice to say no…"

"Guess that makes me a poor sucker too," said Amber.

"Too nice to say no, huh?" said Tim, with a faint smile.

"Nah," said Amber, brushing the backhanded compliment aside. "It's just quicker to do it yourself than listen to Alan bitch about how much paperwork he has to do and how nobody ever helps him around this damn place, and how they give him more paperwork on purpose because they know he hates it, and so on and so forth. And he can't punctuate worth a damn, either."

Tim chuckled.

"Yeah. Come on, let's go. We'll swing by the east office on the way out."

Amber nodded, and slid the envelope out from under the desk. She picked it up, got to her feet and followed Tim out of the west office.

"Hey, Bernstein, where are you going?" one of the officers called out behind her.

"Yeah, you just got here!" yelled another.

"You gonna do any _work _this week, Lieutenant?" shouted out a third.

"Who's Lieutenant Bernstein?"

"Yeah, someone tell me what she looks like, I forgot!"

"Nobody knows what she looks like, man. She's never here!"

"She's an urban legend, I swear. Everyone claims she works here, but nobody's ever seen her. I think somebody made her up."

"Ever hear the one about Lieutenant Bernstein showing up for work?"

"No, because it never happened!"

The room erupted with laughter as the door closed behind them. Tim was trying not to laugh along, possibly out of respect for his friend, but it hardly mattered; Amber couldn't keep a smile away either.

"Ah, just ignore them, Amb," said Tim, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You know what the guys are like."

"Don't worry, Tim, it doesn't bother me," said Amber, and she smiled. "I'd have quit long ago if it did. I don't mind them making jokes or gossiping. I just hate it when I hear stupid rumours going around. Most of them are dumb but then you get the malicious ones, and they're the ones that bug me. Like the stuff they've been saying about the STARS."

"Yeah, that was pretty nasty," Tim agreed, and removed his hand. "What's up with them lately, anyway? I haven't seen them around as much as I used to."

Amber hesitated.

"They've been busy," she said, opting for the vaguest response. "Barry and Chris took a little time off, but they're back now. Don't know what they're doing, but it sounds important, so I'm not going to disturb them. By the way, how's Officer Elran doing?"

"Elran? He's doing okay, all things considered. His face looks a whole lot better now," said Tim conversationally. "Pretty nasty fall, though. He was lucky not to be really hurt, if you ask me. How'd it happen?"

"Not sure," lied Amber. "I think someone fell into him on the stairs and he got the rougher end of the deal. I've heard twelve different versions from twelve different people, so it's hard to say. Hugo says it was an accident, though."

"Well, as long as he's okay, I guess it doesn't matter," said Tim, with a shrug. "But anyway, we're not getting any work done standing out here in the hall. Let's go find Bob."

Amber followed him across the foyer and through the door on the other side of the room. She let her mind wander as she and Tim traced the familiar route to the east office.

"Hey," interrupted her companion, grabbing her arm suddenly and shaking her out of her thoughts. "Wake up, sleepyhead, you're walking right past the door!"

Amber blinked, and looked up at the blue-painted doors. Tim was right; in her dreamlike trance, she'd been about to carry on walking right down the hall, completely unaware that she was already standing outside the office.

"What's up with you today, Amb?" said Tim, and he shook his head. "It's not like you to walk past in a daydream. Are you sick or something?"

"No, I'm fine. Really. I've just got a lot on my mind, that's all," Amber apologised. "You see, I've got my brother staying with me, and - "

"Say no more," said Tim, cutting her off before she could get to the point. "I know exactly how you feel. Jason's a hell of a kid, isn't he? Looks placid enough, but leave him alone for five minutes and he'll wreck the place! I've never met anybody so oblivious and accident-prone in my life. I spent two hours trying to fix my stove, you know that? I'm damned if I know how he managed to break it… that thing's practically foolproof."

"Unfortunately for everybody with kitchen appliances and a working toilet, Jason's a pretty ingenious fool," said Amber, with the smallest of smiles.

"Yeah, that's the trouble," said Tim, opening the door and letting Amber go in first, before following her into the office. "I should have checked with the manufacturers to make sure it was Jason-proof before they installed it. Is there such a thing as a Jason-proof appliance?"

"Only if you can't afford to have one," said Amber, smirking. "All the plasma screen TV sets and hot tubs in the city are probably Jason-proof."

"Well, they were before Jason came to stay," said Tim morosely. "I don't think my bathroom will ever be the same again. You know what the seven most dreaded words in the English language are?"

" "Dude, is it _supposed _to do that?"," Amber and Tim both chorused.

"Yeah, exactly," said Tim, laughing. "Thank God my Jacuzzi's still under warranty, that's all I can say..."

They stopped at one of the desks and waited patiently until a drained-looking Bob Kerr eventually looked up.

"Yes?" he said, trying not to yawn while he spoke. Amber noticed that the desk was awash with paperwork and empty coffee cups, and she wondered how long he'd been on duty.

"Hey Bob, you look tired," said Tim kindly. "You been here all night?"

"Yeah. Thanks for talking me into doing the night shift," Bob said bitterly, rubbing his eyes. "If I'd known Alan Kingsley was on nights this week too, I'd have told you to keep your damn overtime to yourself. You know how much _paperwork _he's made me do?"

"Hey - I warned you, man," said Tim serenely, shaking his head. "I told you he'd been doing a couple of nights lately, for the overtime, same as you. You knew the risks when you signed on for the night shift this week. I refuse point-blank to accept any blame when you said yourself that overtime was a good idea."

Bob just shrugged; Amber took this to mean that he knew Tim was right, but wasn't about to acknowledge the fact by saying so in public.

"Anyway, buddy, time to go on patrol," said Tim, patting Bob on the back. "You wanna come with me, or do you want me to take Amber instead and let you get on with all that paperwork?"

"Time for patrol already?" said Bob, surprised.

"Sure. You coming or what?"

Bob stood up so quickly that his chair fell backwards onto the floor.

"Oh, thank God for that," he declared loudly. "I thought I was going to be stuck here all morning. Come on, let's go!"

"Hey, Bob, where are you going?" called Alan, from across the room.

"Patrol," answered Bob, hardly bothering to disguise his relief at being excused from paperwork duty.

"But what about that paperwork?" said Alan. An anxious, almost pained look was passing across the man's face. "It's pretty urgent - if you can't do it, then you have to get somebody else to do it for you!"

"Oh, don't worry, I have," said Bob, with a sudden, manic grin. He scooped up the pile of paperwork and strode across the room. With a flourish, he thrust the whole pile straight into Alan's arms. "There you go, Alan. All yours."

Alan's mouth opened and closed a few times. His facial expression bordered on complete shock; he looked almost as though he was about to faint.

"But - but who's going to do all this?" he protested weakly.

"Uh, let me think," said Bob thoughtfully. "How about… _you_?"

He was joined in saying this last word by Amber and Tim, neither of whom could help noticing that everybody else in the east office was grinning widely, and that one or two of the bystanders had even mouthed the word "you" themselves.

"But - "

"Thanks, Alan. Good of you to take care of your workload for me. See you later."

"Hey, wait a minute, you can't just - !"

"Bye!"

The doors slammed shut on Alan's indignant protests. Once they were safely outside in the corridor, Bob, Amber and Tim looked at each other, and burst out laughing.

"Nice one, Bob," said Tim approvingly, slapping his colleague on the back. "I never thought anybody would ever have the guts to say that to his face. Good going!"

"Yeah, I've wanted to do that for years!" said Amber, giggling.

"Well, now that I've fulfilled a lifelong dream, where are we going today? North half of Coburg and then Central City, right?" said Bob, as they left the scene.

"That's right," said Tim.

"Amber coming with us?" said Bob, looking across at Amber.

"No, she's meeting up with an informant. We're just giving her a ride there," Tim told him.

"That's cool," said Bob. "Can we grab a coffee on the way out?"

"Nah, the coffee machine's broken again," said Tim. "We'll get a couple of coffees to take out when we drop Amber off at Fiorelli's... but I don't think you really need it, Bob. You've been drinking coffee all night."

"Trust me, Tim, I need it," said Bob grimly.

Tim smirked.

"You had eight cups already, Bob. You an addict or something?"

"I'm not an addict," said Bob, pretending to slur his words. "I can give it up any time I like…"

"Okay, okay, we'll make sure you get your fix," said Tim, and he shook his head in mock resignation. "But I think you need to get some help with your addiction, Bob. Remember, admitting you have a problem is the first step on the road to recovery."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Denial is not a place in Egypt," said Bob. "Oh, and ask them if they still do those cappuccinos, you know, with the cinnamon on top? Jodie says they're giving away free oatmeal cookies this week, and you get a whole bag of them if you order a grande…"

"And you want a grande, right?" said Tim, confirming what Amber thought to be the answer to a very obvious question.

"Duh," said Bob, chuckling.

"Okay, Mr Coffee, you'll get your grande," sighed Amber. "But can we please get a move on? If I'm late for this meeting and I miss my contact, I'm going to go grande on your ass, so you'd better hurry up. Unless of course you want to be wearing that coffee on your front for the rest of your shift…"

"What's the matter with her?" she heard Bob whisper behind her back.

"Not enough coffee," said Amber sarcastically, reaching back and grabbing him by the arm so that she could pull him after her. "Now come on! We're going to be late!"


	11. Getting The Picture: Part 2

****

11: Getting The Picture - Part Two

The patrol car drew to a graceful halt on Main Street, just outside a little family-owned hardware store named Sellfield's Home Electricals. Tim and Bob got out first, slamming the car doors shut behind them.

Amber was last to get out. As she stood up - almost banging her head on the edge of the doorframe as she did so - she could see her destination, just across the street. She closed the car door, then straightened up and walked purposefully forward -

"Look out!"

Before she could work out what was going on, Tim grabbed her and pushed her back against the police car, holding her tightly. Amber was about to protest and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when a trolley car barrelled past her face at full speed, whipping her curly hair up into a frenzy. She closed her eyes tightly against the dust and the rushing wind, and held onto Tim until the trolley passed them by.

The noise faded away. Amber blinked, and looked around. Bob was standing on the sidewalk behind them, looking startled; it was only then that she realised how close she'd come to getting flattened by the speeding trolley. Two more steps, she thought, shivering, and she'd have made front page news in the _Raccoon Times:_

_COP IN TROLLEY DEATH COLLISION  
"We Only Found Her Head", Say Rescuers_

"Wow," said Tim quietly, as they watched the trolley recede into the distance. "That was a close one."

"You know, I really think we should talk to City Hall about the speed limits again," commented Bob, from the sidewalk. "The trolleys run _way _too fast along this stretch."

"Ain't that the truth," said Tim, releasing Amber. "Amber, didn't your mom ever tell you to look both ways before you cross the street? If I hadn't grabbed you, you'd have been toast!"

"Wouldn't be enough left of her for toast," corrected Bob. "Jelly, maybe, but not toast."

"Yeah, we'd have had to scrape you off the street and mail you home to your folks," said Tim severely, but then his voice softened. "Look, I know you're worried that your brother's wreaking havoc back home while he tries to make himself a sandwich, but try and keep your mind on the job, will you? We don't want you getting hurt."

They crossed the street, this time without incident, and went straight in through the door of the ice-cream parlour.

The first thing that Amber noticed as she opened the door was how noisy the place was. Fiorelli's had always been a popular meeting place in the city, and at first this had been a bonus. Not only did it do the best ice-cream sundaes in town, it was an ideal place to meet up with your friends, because everybody knew where it was. However, its recent centenary celebrations had seen an unexpected upsurge in popularity, and now the place was crazy-busy, to the extent that you probably had to be related to the owners to get a table during the lunch rush.

The ice-cream parlour was an upmarket sort of place with a bright, airy feel, crowded though it was with booths and tables. New and old had been blended together in the décor so artfully that you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began; the black and white floor tiles, the booths and the marble-topped counter appeared to have been there since time immemorial, but the chrome light fittings, the plate-glass windows and the rest of the furniture were all brand new. Right now the place was about half full, but lunchtime wasn't far away. Soon, she thought, the rest of those tables would be full and the staff would be rushed off their feet.

"… yeah, I'd like two cappuccinos, one tall with low-fat milk, one grande with cinnamon topping," Tim was telling the pretty brunette waitress behind the counter. He was leaning nonchalantly on the marble surface, wallet in hand, and Amber recognised the stance right away.

"Ask if they still have the offer on the oatmeal cookies," pitched in Bob. He was sitting up on one of the barstools and swinging his heels from side to side, apparently without realising it.

"Yeah, do you still give away the oatmeal cookies free with the grande?" Tim asked, but the waitress shook her head.

"No sir, I'm afraid the offer finished yesterday," she said, but then she smiled. "However, since it's for our boys in blue, I'm sure we can fix you up with something. Tomorrow we're starting a special offer on blueberry muffins - you get one free with every coffee you order. How's that sound to you?"

"Sounds pretty good to me," said Tim, putting on his most dashing smile. "You like blueberry muffins, right, Bob?"

"Sure do," said Bob happily.

"Okay then, I think we'll take a cappuccino each and two blueberry muffins," said Tim. "Now, miss, what can I get for you?"

"Oh, I'm fine, sir, thank you," said the waitress, blushing.

"No, really, let me get you something," Tim insisted. "How about a latte? You look like a latte girl to me… you like lattes?"

"I like mochas," admitted the waitress, edging around the counter.

"All right then, a mocha it is," said Tim, and he patted the barstool beside him. "Come on, try sitting on the other side of the counter for once. I always said you girls work too hard. What's your name?"

"Marie," said the waitress, hopping up onto a barstool. "My name's Marie."

Though she was curious to see how things would turn out for Tim in his neverending quest to find a girlfriend who wasn't fixated with his bank balance, Amber had more important things to worry about. She looked at her watch, then at the clock above the counter; both were proclaiming it to be 11.20 in the morning, and yet there was no sign of Bethany Rove.

She began to wonder if perhaps Bethany was already here, and she just hadn't noticed. After all, she had no idea what the woman looked like, other than the fact that she was in her early twenties, and that wasn't exactly a comprehensive description.

Amber decided to sit and wait for Miss Rove to make an appearance. She chose a table in the middle of the room, just close enough to overhear the conversations of her fellow diners, while at the same time being able to hear everything else that was going on around her.

A blonde waitress appeared instantly at her side.

"Can I get you something, officer?" she said, notepad in hand.

"Just a coffee, please," said Amber. "Black, two sugars."

"Coming right up. Just let me know when your friend's ready to order and I'll be right over."

Amber frowned.

"My friend?" she said. "But Tim's already - "

There was a scraping noise as the chair on the opposite side of her table was pulled back. Amber turned immediately to berate the inconsiderate chair-thief, but was met instead with the sight of a petite young woman taking off her denim jacket and draping it across the back of the chair.

" - oh," said Amber, as it dawned on her who the newcomer was. "You must be Bethany, right?"

The young woman nodded eagerly. She was quite pretty in an unremarkable sort of way, with hazel eyes and straight brown hair, which was kept off her face by a dark green bandanna. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, with a navy-blue backpack still slung over her shoulder, and her expression was bright and friendly.

"Yes, that's right," she said, and sat down, dumping her backpack on the floor beside her chair. "You must be Lieutenant Bernstein! Pleased to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, Miss Rove," replied Amber.

Bethany was just opening her mouth to speak again when her backpack started ringing under the table. She gave a little start, then snatched the backpack up hastily and started rummaging through it.

"That must be Marcus - he's the artist I'm working with this afternoon," she explained, as she took out a cellphone. "I'm so sorry, but I really have to take this call… hello?"

The high-pitched, excitable voice on the other end of the line suggested that either Marcus had just had a terrible accident involving tight-fitting pants, or that the caller was a girlfriend of hers.

"Selena!" Bethany squealed, dispelling the first notion for good. "Oh my gosh, how _are_ you? How did the exhibition go? Was Michelle there? How about Jean-Paul, did he show up in the end? Ugh, I can't believe what Tom said in his write-up about Paolo's sculptures, that was _completely _out of order. India said she was disgusted…"

The waitress promptly returned from the other direction, carrying a cup of coffee that looked as if it was evaporating on the spot.

"There you go, one _incredibly_ hot coffee, two sugars and no cream," said the waitress, placing it on the table. "Oh, I almost forgot, my name's Jennie and I'll be serving you today, and so on and so forth. Can I get you anything else, officer?"

"Now that you mention it, a pecan Danish doesn't sound like a bad idea," said Amber. She'd spotted a tray of fresh pastries on the counter shortly before Bethany's arrival, and it had reminded her that she hadn't had anything to eat today.

"No problem, I'll fetch that right away," said the waitress. "How about you, miss?"

"Uh, yeah," said Bethany, taking the phone away from her ear for a moment as she considered the options. "I think I'll have a caramel frappuccino and a slice of that cheesecake you've got on the counter… oh, and an almond croissant to go."

"Anything else?" said the waitress.

"No, thank you, that's fine."

The waitress hurried away, and to Amber's profound irritation, Bethany returned to her conversation. It didn't look as though she was going to stop talking any time soon, either. Amber decided there was nothing else to do except wait patiently, so she sat there and tried to look understanding, while her right foot tapped out an irritable rhythm under the table.

After five full minutes of listening to Bethany chattering on the phone about assignments, deadlines and someone's half-crazed editor, Amber finally decided that enough was enough. She was about to get up and ask Tim and Bob for a ride back to the precinct when she saw them walking away from the counter. Tim was cheerfully tucking a scrap of paper into his shirt pocket; she guessed that it bore the scribbled phone number of the waitress he'd been flirting with. Bob, meanwhile, was carrying two cups of coffee and a bag of blueberry muffins, and he looked about as happy as anyone could ever be.

"Hey Amber, we're heading out on patrol now!" he called out over his shoulder. "We'll see you later. You okay getting back to the precinct by yourself?"

"Sure thing, Bob," said Amber, resigning herself to the fact that she was going to be stuck here for quite some time. "See you later."

Bethany looked up as the two men passed by, and a look of absolute panic crossed her face. It seemed as though she'd suddenly remembered both Amber and her purpose for being at Fiorelli's.

" - sorry, hon, I can't," she told the person on the other end of the phone. "I'm meeting Marcus this afternoon and besides, I'm a little tied-up right now. Anyway, I've absolutely got to run! I'll call you about next week!_"_

Bethany hung up, and glanced apologetically at Amber.

"Sorry about that," she said, and she cringed when she saw Amber's stern expression. "I honestly didn't mean to keep you waiting. Ugh, I could kick Selena right now. I tell her _all the time_ not to call me before six unless it's important. She knows I'm busy, and she knows I'm no more likely to shut up than she is once we get talking… I'm so sorry, I really am. If I'd known it wasn't Marcus then I wouldn't have picked up."

The apology seemed sincere enough, Amber thought, and she at least had the decency to look embarrassed. She decided to let the incident pass without comment.

"So," said Bethany, as she put her cellphone back into her backpack and tucked the bag under the table again, "you wanted to know about the photos?"

"Yes, I do," said Amber, dropping her voice. "In particular the photo you took in Brentford."

"Well, they were all taken in Brentford," said Bethany. "Oh, thank you."

This last comment was made to Jennie, who had reappeared with their order. The waitress smiled, nodded and walked off again to wipe down the table that a family of five had just vacated.

"I mean the one you took in Box Hill on Tuesday morning," said Amber quietly. "You know, the one of the - "

She looked round quickly to check that nobody was listening, then mouthed the word "zombie".

Bethany's eyes opened wide, and her mouth became a little O of sudden understanding.

"Oh yes, of course!" she said quickly. "Yes, I know the one you mean. Did you bring the photos?"

"Right here," said Amber, and she pushed the envelope onto the table.

Bethany beamed, and she plucked the brown envelope from the polished wooden surface with ease. She flipped the envelope open with an unmanicured fingernail and let the glossy photographs slide out onto the palm of her hand. She tossed the envelope back onto the table, then spread out the photographs with rather more care.

"So, which one did you want to talk about?" she said brightly.

Amber looked down, but although she slapped her hand over her mouth straight away, she failed to stifle her gasp in time.

There wasn't just one zombie photo on the table. There were eleven of them, and there was no room for doubt in anyone's mind as to what the pictures portrayed. Even though some of the photos had obviously been taken at night, every detail was still crisp, clear and utterly appalling; even the daylight shining in through the windows couldn't detract from the horror of the dark and bloody scenes depicted in the photographs.

"I thought there was only one picture!" she said, aghast. "I had no idea there were - but there's so _many_ of them…"

"Yep," said Bethany, her sunny demeanour now somewhat diminished by the scenes of carnage that covered the table. "Monday night and early Tuesday morning. All taken outside my apartment in Box Hill. I don't know much about the attacks, but these guys are responsible for at least some of them, that much I do know."

Amber just stared at the photographs, hardly able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. David Ford had never told her that there were more like these…

"Cannibal killers, my ass," said Bethany suddenly.

Amber's head jerked up.

"I'm sorry?" she said, startled by the comment.

"You heard," said the young woman, unrepentant, and she took a sip of her drink. "Lieutenant, I've heard the stories, same as everybody else in town, and up until now I didn't believe a word about cannibal killers. I thought it was just wild animals."

"So did everybody else," said Amber, picking up one of the photographs and staring at it. "Apart from the media and a bunch of conspiracy theorists, of course. I know the local newspapers are only too keen on it being the work of some crazed cannibalistic cult. Sells more newspapers."

"Well, they're cannibals all right," concluded Bethany, as she got to work on her cheesecake. "The photos make that pretty clear. But I'm not convinced about murderers. I don't think those guys have the capacity for rational thought, or any thought at all for that matter."

"Really?" said Amber, laying the photograph on the table again and trying to suppress a shudder of disgust as she caught sight of its subject again. "What makes you say that?"

"It's completely random," said Bethany, with her mouth full. "The way they operate, I mean. Those things act more like animals than people. They can't talk, can't walk in a straight line, can't do anything except stagger around and moan - "

"And eat," finished Amber.

"Yeah, exactly," Bethany agreed, and she finished off her cheesecake. "Lieutenant, I don't get it. The local newspapers have been talking about the attacks and the rumours for weeks now. The STARS went in to investigate and came up with nothing except some wild stories which nobody in town really believes. More attacks keep happening and the police start asking the public for information, but when I come in and show the officer on duty the photos, and tell them what I've seen, nobody believes me. They don't even want to listen. What's up with that?"

"What did you tell them?" Amber asked.

Bethany frowned.

"You didn't read my statement?"

"I didn't have time," confessed Amber. "I'm sorry. It was all I could do to get here on time. I was going to look at it when I got back, so I could start following up on the case. Please don't think that we don't need evidence of these cases, Miss Rove. We do, desperately, so we can stop these attacks."

"If you need to know so much, then why won't you people listen?" said Bethany stubbornly, throwing down her fork. "One guy laughed at me, and the other one told me to get lost and stop wasting his time!"

"Miss Rove, please calm down," said Amber hurriedly, aware that the other patrons were starting to stare at them. "I'm sorry you were treated with such unprofessionalism by my colleagues, and trust me, I'm going to look into that as well. Now could you tell me what you told them, please? I'd like to hear what they took exception to."

Bethany seemed to settle down a little.

"All right," she said, rather grudgingly. She lowered her voice. "I told them that I'd seen the attacks taking place, that I had visual evidence, and that those people weren't part of any cult I've ever seen. Sure, I've seen a lot of things during my time, but I've never seen a cult with walking corpses for members. I know it must sound crazy, but those people were dead, Lieutenant. They really were. Some of them looked like they'd been dead for days."

Amber breathed out. It was almost a relief to know that somebody else knew the truth about what was going on in the city, even if she didn't really understand it yet.

"I know it sounds stupid, and you probably think I'm making it up, or that I'm some kind of crackpot conspiracy theorist, but look at the photos," Bethany was pleading. "Please, Lieutenant, you have to believe me. I don't think anybody else in the whole world believes me, but it's true..."

The young woman's cheeks were tinged pink with discomfiture, and Amber felt desperately sorry for her. Her own experience with the STARS had taught her how hard it was to try and convince someone that an unlikely-sounding story was in fact true.

"Miss Rove," Amber said gently, "I believe you."

"You do?" said Bethany, perking up a little.

"Yes. I do. And I know the STARS members would believe it too, if they were here," said Amber, but then something occurred to her.

"Out of interest," she said slowly, "what _do _you know about the STARS mission?"

"Not much," admitted Bethany. "I just heard something in J's Bar last night. Some guy called Fulham who works at the precinct was telling everybody in sight that the STARS team thinks there are zombies in the forest and that they're eating people, but that it's not really true because everyone in STARS is on drugs."

Furious though she was, Amber couldn't let her anger show in public. Instead she clenched her fists hard, for just a second, then forced herself to relax again.

"Okay," she said, with strained patience. "So what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything," said Bethany quietly. "A lot of people were agreeing with him, but I couldn't. Not after I took those photos. To be honest with you, I think the STARS have got more sense than anyone else in town. Zombie sightings in the forest would certainly explain all the attacks up there, and if I've seen dead-looking people carrying out attacks too…"

Bethany trailed off. She looked almost lost in thought, and slightly scared.

"Lieutenant, can I ask you a question?" she said suddenly.

"Sure."

"What's going on?" said Bethany, and now she sounded frightened. "Were the STARS telling the truth? These people… where are they coming from? What's causing all this?"

"We're trying to find out, Miss Rove," said Amber, sighing. "I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure these attacks are stopped as soon as possible. I advise you to be discreet, though. There are so many rumours going around the city about these attacks that anything that could be taken as conclusive proof will cause complete panic. I think you can appreciate how many lives could be put at risk if this situation isn't handled properly."

Bethany nodded.

"Of course," she said. "I understand."

"However," Amber added, dropping her voice as low as it would go before it became a whisper, "I also advise you not to draw any further attention to yourself, and to refrain from taking any more pictures. And I strongly recommend that you change your phone number and move out of your apartment as soon as possible."

Bethany looked stunned by this last remark.

"What? Why?" was all she could manage.

Amber looked round again to ensure that their conversation still wasn't attracting any unwanted attention. Once she was satisfied that everyone else present was more interested in their own conversations, she continued:

"You have to understand that what I'm telling you now is _strictly_ off the record, Miss Rove."

Though shaken by what she'd been told already, Bethany somehow managed to look even more startled.

"What do you mean?"

Amber dearly wanted to tell the young woman to run home, pack some things and leave the city as soon as possible. If Bethany Rove had witnessed zombie attacks and was known to have taken photographs as evidence - and was officially recorded to have claimed that zombies existed - then the odds of her being in mortal danger fairly soon were pretty high. However, panicking would do no good. If what she now suspected was true, then being incautious at this point might not only endanger Bethany's life, but her own as well.

"Miss Rove," she said carefully, "I have reason to believe that you may be under surveillance by person or persons unknown, and that as a consequence, you might be putting yourself in danger by discussing what you've seen in Box Hill."

Bethany had gone pale.

"You mean I'm being watched?" she said, looking around anxiously. "But why? I'm just a photographer! Taking pictures is my _job_! I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Someone might have reason to believe otherwise," Amber warned her. "I don't know for sure if you _are _being watched, but at this stage, it's a very strong possibility. Now, I want you to do a few things for me."

"Like what?" said Bethany nervously.

"Firstly, you should take a few extra precautionary measures with your security arrangements at home," said Amber. "You also need to stay alert, and pay attention to your surroundings at all times. However, I need you to stay calm. Just carry on as usual, and act natural. Don't let on that you think you're being watched."

"Let me get this straight," said Bethany, her voice shaking. "You think someone's watching me and that I might be in danger, and you're asking me to _act natural_? How on earth can I act natural if someone out there wants me dead?"

"Well, for a start, you can do the next thing I'm about to ask you."

"What's that?"

"For one, I'd like you to tell me everything you know about Tony Warren and the Purple Puma Club."

Bethany broke into a relieved grin.

"Is that all?" she said, almost laughing.

"Actually, no. I'd really like to hear all about Sherilee Burns' recent car accident," said Amber thoughtfully. "I hear it may have something to do with having a few too many lunchtime drinks with the press union representatives. Of course, that's just a rumour, but all the same, I'd like to know more."

Bethany laughed.

"Okay," she said, picking up the zombie photos and tidying them away, then rearranging the ones left on the table. Several of them depicted a young man with a ponytail and a leather jacket; he was kissing a scantily-clad Hispanic girl outside a seedy-looking nightclub. The rest showed a dishevelled, drunk-looking blonde emerging from the remains of what had once been an expensive sports car, angrily waving her fist in the air and yelling at someone out of shot.

Amber sat back in her chair and drank her coffee while Bethany talked enthusiastically about her two investigative assignments for the _Raccoon Times_. She didn't need to make a point of listening attentively; these cases were of real interest to at least two of her colleagues, and she managed to fill up several pages of her notebook with hastily-scribbled facts.

"Well, thank you for coming to see me, Miss Rove," said Amber at last, and she shut her notebook. "I'm very grateful for the information you've been able to give us."

"No problem," said Bethany, picking up her backpack from the floor and swinging it back onto her shoulder. "I'm just glad there's somebody in the force who's finally taking me and my photos seriously."

"I take incidents like these very seriously, Miss Rove," said Amber. "I'll read your statement when I get back to the precinct and then I'll start making a few inquiries, see if we can identify any of the people pictured in the first set of photos you showed me. Once we know who they are, we can start tracking them down and put a stop to these attacks."

"Thank you," said Bethany, standing up.

"You're welcome," Amber replied, and she got to her feet too. "And if you have _any _concerns about your personal safety, or any further information that may help with the investigation, then please contact me at the precinct right away. I'll make sure everybody sits up and pays attention."

Bethany nodded and turned to leave, but then turned back.

"Oh," she said quickly, as if she'd just remembered something, "have you ever been up into the mountains, Lieutenant?"

"No," said Amber slowly, wondering what this had to do with anything. "I don't get much chance to leave the city."

"Oh, you should," said Bethany earnestly. "They're beautiful this time of year. I took a trip up to Springvale last week, and I took a whole lot of photos while I was up there. I bet you'd love to see them. Definitely not the kind of thing you see every day."

Amber frowned, and she was about to ask why someone else's vacation photos were of interest to the police when a thought struck her. Most of the Arklay mountain communities were isolated and difficult to get to, and they were only accessible by road when the weather was good. Bad weather, darkness or even a fallen tree could completely cut them off from the outside world, especially with the smaller outposts in the forest - if there was trouble, then the best and quickest way to get there was by helicopter.

_Just like the STARS did…_

"I'd like that," said Amber cautiously. "Now that you mention it, I've always wanted to see the mountains. I'd take some time off and go up there myself if I didn't have so much to do, you know?"

"I know how it is," Bethany sympathised, opening her wallet and putting some money on the table. "Yeah, why don't you come over sometime and take a look? They're really quite something. I'm free at eight if you want to stop by after work."

Amber had already opened her mouth to say that she was busy, but thought better of it. Though constant supervision was probably necessary in his case, Jason and his unintentional devastation of her apartment could wait a little longer, providing he hadn't managed to blow up the whole building in the meantime.

"Okay, I'd love to," she answered.

"Great! I'll see you at eight, then," said Bethany brightly, snatching up the paper bag containing her almond croissant, and she headed towards the door. "Catch you later!"

_More photos,_ thought Amber, as she gathered up the photographs and put them carefully back into the envelope. _Wonder what's been going on up in Springvale to capture a curious young freelance photographer's attention? It must be something important if she made a point of telling me about it._She counted out several dollar bills from her pocket and put them on the table, then tucked her chair underneath it and started making her way towards the exit.

_Maybe it's something to do with the mansion incident, or another one of the attacks they've been reporting up in the mountains lately_, she thought, as she navigated her way through the sea of tables._ Is Springvale anywhere near the Spencer mansion, or the training facility that Rebecca told me about? Either way, I'll bet my bottom dollar Umbrella has something to do with -_

A bloodcurdling scream and a gunshot from outside stopped three dozen spoons in mid-air. Some tinkled onto the floor tiles or landed with a clatter on the table; others hovered motionless in the air, halfway to their owners' mouths. Even Jennie and Marie froze in their tracks, too stunned to move.

The only person not rendered mute and immobile with fright was Amber. Instinct had taken over the moment she heard the scream, and she was running out through the door before she even knew what was happening.

Already she could feel adrenaline coursing through her body like cold water, heightening her senses and honing her reactions to a razor edge. She whirled around and instantly saw everything there was to see.

A black van, unhampered by any form of identification. Three stocky figures clad in black from head to toe, their faces invisible behind mirrored helmet visors. Three guns drawn, and pointed after the young woman with the navy-blue backpack.

_Umbrella…_

The thought screamed through Amber's head and galvanised her into action right away. Her gun left its holster as though it had been electrified, and the words came flying from her lips without pause for thought or consideration of volume.

"RPD! _Freeze!_" she screamed at the three men.

She managed to throw herself to the ground just before a volley of lead smashed through the plate-glass window behind her. She could hear screams of horror from the ice-cream parlour's patrons, but it was as though the chorus of voices raised in fear had been muffled by a thick wall of glass and the depth of an ocean. Rolling as she fell, landing behind the reassuring shield of someone's car parked parallel to the sidewalk, she only knew the unpleasant shock of landing hard on concrete, and some faint cries in the background that could just as well have been in the next state.

Amber scrambled to her feet again and took a pot-shot at one of the anonymous figures. She'd been hoping to hit the arm holding the gun, but she must have aimed slightly too low, because the bullet buried itself in the would-be assassin's thigh. Collapsing in a heap, the man clutched at his bleeding leg and screamed, but his colleagues paid him no heed. They were too busy taking aim again at Bethany, who had flung aside her belongings and was running for her life.

"Bethany, stay down!" Amber managed to yell. "You'll get hit!"

But Bethany ignored her and kept running, ducking at the sound of gunfire and screaming all the way down the street. She'd been lucky so far - only good fortune and some chance evasive movements had saved Bethany from the assassins' bullets. Nevertheless, luck had to run out sooner or later, and there was no time to call for backup. If she didn't act now, then Bethany would die.

The two remaining men broke into a run as their target grew more distant. However, Amber wasn't about to let them get away. She ran after them, hoping to catch up with them before they got within shooting distance of Bethany again.

"This is the RPD!" Amber hollered again, so loud that the back of her throat started to protest. Her whole body felt as though it was aflame with white-hot rage. "You're under arrest! Drop your weapons _now!"_

She had to throw herself to the ground again to avoid the next round of bullets, but she'd been expecting this response. She immediately threw herself back into the fray and returned fire over the top of a red Chevrolet, hitting one of the men squarely in the shoulder and narrowly missing the other. Unfortunately, the shoulder wound didn't seem to be enough to hinder the gunman, and his response was another bullet, which buried itself into the rear passenger door.

Amber ran on further down the street in pursuit of the men, still bawling at them to cease fire and give themselves up.

_If I was allowed to shoot perpetrators in the head, I'd have got them all in ten seconds flat_, she thought desperately, firing two more bullets after the gunmen. _But no, we've got to be able to ask them questions later! Damn it! Why couldn't this have happened when Tim and Bob were still around?_

None of the warnings seemed to make any difference, and Amber was starting to run out of breath. Main Street ran right across the city and even a STARS officer in peak physical condition would have had trouble sprinting the whole length, especially while yelling at the top of their lungs and trying to hit two running targets without fatally wounding them.

People were running everywhere now, spilling out of the stores that lined this part of Main Street. Screams of panic filled the morning air as terrified customers made a dash for their cars. Amber tried to ignore the chaos breaking out around her, and concentrated on the two men - and Bethany, still alive but so frightened that the power of reason seemed to have deserted her entirely. She was no longer making any attempt to duck down or hide, and she had broken into a dead run in the hope of outrunning the danger she was in.

The man with the injured shoulder suddenly doubled back and ran in the opposite direction, back towards the unmarked black van. Though sorely tempted to follow him, Amber knew that she had no choice but to keep pursuing the last gunman. Stopping this man from shooting Bethany Rove dead was her main priority, even at the expense of losing the other two suspects.

There was another bang, and this time a shriek - the gunman's shot had gone wide, but the bullet had rebounded off something and hit Bethany in the arm. Sobbing with pain and fear, clutching her bleeding arm to her chest, Bethany tumbled into the gutter. She struggled frantically to her feet again and, looking fearfully behind her, darted out into the street.

Amber's eyes widened.

"Bethany, no!" she shouted after her. "Get out of the way!"

Bethany turned round quickly, then opened her mouth to scream - but it was already too late.

The trolley ploughed straight into her at full speed, hurling her several feet into the air like a rag doll and sending her tumbling along the tracks ahead. Brakes squealed, as fast as the driver could possibly have reacted, but it was still much too late. A second later, Bethany had disappeared beneath the trolley wheels with a noise that turned Amber's stomach.

The onlookers who hadn't already managed to leave the scene stood in a mortified silence, unable to take their eyes off the trolley. After the longest five seconds that Amber had experienced in her life, a woman in the background started to scream.

Her heart still racing, Amber tried hard to ignore the blood sprayed across the street and turned round to keep chasing the man ultimately responsible for Bethany Rove's untimely demise, but he was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, _shit_," she breathed, but before she could react further, a black unmarked van tore past her at full speed with the doors still open… and two injured men sitting in the back. The third man instantly reappeared from behind a pick-up truck and leapt up onto the back of the van, opening fire again.

"No!" Amber yelled, and tried to shoot back, but the van was moving too fast and in a second the vehicle was almost out of sight - though not before she'd managed to catch a glimpse of the licence plate.

She snatched up her notebook and scribbled down the number, then watched helplessly as the van disappeared. She felt sick. Not only had she been unsuccessful in her attempt to save Bethany, she hadn't even managed to take out one of the assassins, despite being the second-best marksman in the precinct. However, she could still make sure they didn't get away…

Fumbling at her belt, she grabbed the two-way radio and yelled into it:

"Calling all units, this is 247! We have a homicide, OIS and 10-50 on Main; suspects are heading east! Vehicle is an unmarked black van, registration Adam Tom Charlie one-one-seven-eight! Suspects are armed and dangerous!"

"_Confirmed, 247_," came the response, sounding as crackly and distant through the radio as a transmission from Mars. "_Are you able to pursue?"_

"Negative, unable to pursue on foot! I have a 10-105 on scene," said Amber quickly. "Send out a 10-52 and a CSI team, I need a Forensics unit here right away! Think we're going to need a washdown too. Over."

It wasn't long before she could hear the wail of approaching sirens. The sound had always bothered her as a civilian, but as a cop, it comforted her greatly. It meant that help was on the way, and that no matter what happened next, she wouldn't have to face the aftermath of the situation alone.

Amber clipped the radio back onto her belt and hurried back towards the scene of the crash. People were already congregating around the stationary trolley to stare, and she suddenly hated them for their morbid curiosity.

"Hey, watch it, flatfoot," snarled a man as she tried to push her way through the crowd. "We pay your wages!"

Amber bit down on her intended retort and barged past him. She was in no mood for arrogant bystanders or their bullshit; not now, when everything seemed to be falling apart around her.

An older woman was crouching on the ground, fussing over Bethany - or what was left of her, Amber noticed, feeling her stomach lurch. The girl had emerged from the collision as a bloody and almost unrecognisable mess. She could see the trolley driver too, a grey-faced guy in his forties or fifties, shaking as he leaned against the side of the trolley for support.

As Amber knelt down beside Bethany, the other woman gave her a long, sorrowful look that needed no explanation. She was cradling Bethany's battered, bloodied head in her arms, as tenderly as if she was holding a baby. Miraculously, the young woman was still alive - but only just, and it was clear that she didn't have much time left.

Trembling all over with the effort, Bethany managed to open her eyes. Amber tried to avert her gaze, but she knew that it was too late and that for the rest of her life, she would see that look of silent, desperate agony every time she closed her eyes.

She took the girl's remaining hand, trying not to think of the feel of blood between her fingers, and held it as hard as she dared. She had to force herself to make eye contact again, and now she realised that she had no idea what to do next. What were you meant to say to someone while they were dying?

But to her surprise, it was Bethany who spoke first. She was struggling hard to draw air into her crushed lungs and she tried several times to frame words, before finally managing to whisper:

"Lieutenant… I… I'm sorry…"

"It's all right," said Amber quietly, and heard her own voice starting to crack. "I'm here, and th-the paramedics will be here soon. We're going to get you to hospital, and then they can - they can fix you up."

It was a lie, of course. There was no way of saving Bethany Rove's dwindling life. Even if she somehow survived the journey to the hospital, the most skilled surgeons in the city couldn't have mended the girl's broken body. The words didn't seem to fool Bethany either, because they brought the palest ghost of a smile to the young woman's face.

"They do wonders… with surgery now… don't they?" she managed to whisper through lips stained scarlet with blood.

"Yeah, they do," said Amber, and she tried to smile in spite of the tears that were already stinging her eyes.

"Hope I get a bed by… by the window," Bethany murmured, the wry smile already fading on her lips. Her eyelids were slowly drooping and her words were becoming more indistinct as she started to lose consciousness.

"Bethany," said Amber desperately, clutching the dying girl's hand. "Bethany, just hold on, okay? They'll be here soon, just - just stay with me. It's going to be all right!"

Bethany was struggling to focus now. It seemed to be taking more and more of her strength just to stay awake.

"If you see Marcus," she whispered, shuddering with agony, "tell him I… I had to cancel… and tell Selena she was… my best friend."

Amber could feel the lump in her throat growing larger by the second. She swallowed, and said:

"I will. I promise."

"Thank you f-for being here," said Bethany weakly, her words now fainter than the air. "For… believing me…"

"It's all right," Amber repeated, over and over again, as though those magic words would somehow make everything just so. "It's all right, Bethany. It's - it's all right."

The sirens were much louder now, probably no more than two blocks away, but Bethany could hold on no longer. Her eyelids closed and her breath escaped in a soft sigh, never to return.

"She's dead," said the other woman. Her face was white beneath her make-up, but her mascara was making her tears run black.

Amber stared at Bethany's lifeless body for some time, still holding the young woman's limp hand in hers as she tried to contain her own tears.

_She was sorry… damn it, she never did anything wrong and she told me she was sorry! I'm the one who has to be sorry! She'd still be alive if I'd done things right!_

The sound of sirens was everywhere now. Somewhere beyond the crowd, she heard tyres screeching on asphalt and the slamming of doors, then shouting as someone tried to push their way through the crowd.

"What _is _it with you pigs and pushing people around?" exclaimed someone at the back of the crowd, and she recognised the voice of the man who had insulted her just moments before. "Damn it, we're the _taxpayers_, you can't just shove us out of the way! We pay your salaries! And we pay too much as it is!"

"Look, pal, if you want a refund, then take it up with the Mayor," growled someone else. "Because the only payback you're gonna get from me is a night in the cells for obstructing a police officer! Now get out of the way!"

Amber's heart leapt at the sound of the man's voice.

"Kevin!" she yelled, dropping Bethany's hand and scrambling to her feet.

The sea of faces parted in Biblical fashion, though not without some pushing and shoving from Kevin to help things along. David McGraw emerged too, after a few more seconds, looking slightly out of breath after the effort of forcing his way through the crowd. He was followed by Tim and Bob, whose faces were pale and etched with anxiety.

When they saw what had happened, Tim's face went whiter still, and Bob, mumbling something through clammy lips, dashed off into the crowd again. Even David looked ill, and he was renowned for his ability to handle even the goriest of crime scenes.

"Whoa!" Kevin exclaimed, so shocked that he took an involuntary step backwards and trod heavily on the toes of a little old lady in the crowd. "What the hell happened here?"

Amber tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled cry, which ended in a wail and propelled her straight into her friend's arms.

"Hey," said Kevin quietly, patting her on the back. "It's okay, Amb, I've got you. You're all right. Hey, Tim, can you get some witness statements for me? And get Bob to - where's Bob?"

The sound of someone coughing violently towards the back of the crowd answered the question right away.

"Well, he is new," observed Kevin. "David, can you go talk to the trolley driver while I take care of Amber?"

"Sure," said David, stepping forward.

Amber found herself being taken gently by the arm and led a short distance away. Grateful to have an excuse to turn her back on the scene, she followed Kevin to the sidewalk. They sat down and watched as David talked to the near-hysterical trolley driver, while Tim dashed around taking statements from anyone he could find.

After a while, Kevin put his arm around her shoulders.

"So what happened?" he asked her, as gently as he could.

"They killed her," said Amber thickly, through the tears. "They went after her the minute she got out of the door. I tried to stop them, but they escaped before I could take any of them down… they were shooting at her, and she panicked and ran. She was so scared, she didn't even look where she was going, and then - "

Their eyes travelled along the street to the blood-spattered trolley.

"Bang, goodnight Europe," finished Kevin, and he shook his head. "Man, that's a nasty way to go."

"Yeah," murmured Amber. "What happened to Forensics?"

"They're on their way," Kevin told her. "They should be here in a few minutes. We've got everybody out looking for the perps, too. Don't know how much luck we'll have tracing an unmarked black van, but you got the licence plate, so that's something, at least."

"This is all my fault," said Amber, burying her head in her hands.

"No, it's not," Kevin said, right away. "You did your best."

It was a stock response, and she knew it. It was what people always said at times like these, regardless of whether it was actually true or not. Somehow, though, the fact that the words had been said suddenly made things a little easier to bear.

"I tried, Kevin," she said wretchedly. "I couldn't save her, but I tried, I really did. I just wish I could have done more."

Kevin just sighed.

"You tried, Amb," he said eventually. "You tried. Did your best. Can't ask for much more than that."

They sat and watched the scene unfold. Before long, Kevin started to fidget, a sure sign that he was getting bored and restless. Amber too was beginning to feel ill at ease, and not just because the sidewalk was hard and uncomfortable. She was keeping Kevin from his work unnecessarily, and she knew that she ought to be doing something useful too, instead of sitting here and feeling sorry for herself. She was resolving to do something about this when a chance remark caught her attention:

"It was a suicide. Crazy bitch threw herself in front of the trolley."

Amber's head shot up.

"Are you sure, sir? The old lady over there said she heard gunshots."

That was Tim's voice, a few yards away. He was standing next to a businessman in a loose-fitting grey suit, scribbling away in his notebook, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"Yeah, I'm sure," said the man casually, brushing his fingers through his white-blond hair. "Saw the whole thing. She heard the trolley coming and ran across the street, right in front of it. She even turned round to watch it hit her. She sure as hell wasn't taking any chances."

Not only was the man's account veering well away from the truth, there was something deeply objectionable about the smug look on his face. The anger returned, running red-hot through Amber's body, as though someone had set her blood on fire.

"That's not true!" she burst out, getting to her feet. "That's not what happened at all!"

"Amber, calm down," said Kevin, getting up and taking her arm. "I know you're still shaken up about what happened, but we need to - "

Amber shook him off angrily.

"No!" she yelled. "He's _lying_! Bethany Rove didn't kill herself! What about the gunshots?"

The man in the grey suit simply rolled his eyes.

"Probably just a bunch of skaters squabbling over territory again," he said mildly. "Hey, I'm just telling you what I saw. And I saw that girl run in front of the trolley. She definitely did it on purpose."

"Liar!" yelled Amber, moving forward with such violence that Kevin had to grab her by both arms and drag her back.

"Amber, stop it!" he told her firmly. "Let the guy talk, will you? We'll only get to the bottom of what happened if we know the whole story!"

"I already told you the whole story, Kevin!" she insisted, trying to break free of his grasp. "Don't listen to him! I know what happened, and that wasn't it! I'm telling you, he's _lying_!"

"Now that's enough!" Kevin shouted, grabbing her back and turning her to face him. The uncharacteristic outburst from her friend was enough to shock Amber into silence, and for a second she felt almost afraid of him.

He must have spotted the look of fright on her face, because the strange, angry Kevin instantly melted away, and now she saw and heard only the warm and easy-going Kevin that she'd grown up with.

"Hey," he said, more gently this time. "It's all right. Look, I'm sorry if I scared you, but you're acting way out of order. You really want that guy to sue you for slander? Hell, you just called him a liar in front of a whole bunch of people. He could probably take you to court over that if he wanted."

Amber met Kevin's calm, steady gaze with a sullen stare of her own. She knew that he was probably right about the prospect of being sued, but the resentment of being publicly rebuked for speaking what she knew to be the truth still burned inside her.

_This is how Jill and the others feel, every day… no wonder Chris is so pissed-off. How dare Kevin pick that asshole's word over mine? He's meant to be my friend! How can he believe that guy and not me? I'm the one telling the truth!_

"C'mon, I think we'd better get you back to the precinct," said Kevin, taking her arm again and leading her away from the curious stares of the bystanders. "You've been through a lot today and you must be on edge. You could do with a break."

"But Kevin - " Amber tried to protest, looking across at the man in the grey suit, who was now watching her with a look of faint amusement.

"It's okay, Amb," Kevin said, with a smile. "You don't have to worry about a thing. David and I'll stay here and sort this out, and we'll get Tim and Bob to take you back to the station, how about that?"

"But - "

"It's all right," Kevin said reassuringly. "We'll get to the bottom of this, don't you worry. Even if this guy didn't see the whole story, we have plenty of other witnesses to interview, and Forensics are on their way. We'll find out what really happened, one way or another."

"Kevin, will you please just _listen _to me? I'm trying to - "

Unfortunately, Kevin wasn't listening at all. He'd walked away and was now talking to Tim, occasionally nodding in Amber's direction. She saw Tim nod in agreement with whatever Kevin was saying, then he handed his pen and notebook to Kevin and walked away from the man in the grey suit.

"Hey Amb, Kevin thinks we should head back," he told her quietly. "Personally, I think he's right. You look like you're about ready to kill someone, and if Bob carries on like that, he's going to cough up a rib."

"Tim," said Amber urgently, as they barged their way through the crowd. "Please, you have to listen to me. I don't care what Kevin says about wanting to know the whole story, that man was lying. Bethany didn't throw herself in front of that trolley."

Tim frowned.

"I thought he looked shifty. What really happened?"

"She ran across the tracks because she was being chased. The people after her wanted her dead, and they got their wish. They're still out there somewhere, and if we don't find them - "

Amber stopped as the tail end of the thought suddenly caught up with her.

_If we don't find them soon, then I'm probably next…_

"We'll find them," said Tim, though he looked a little less than entirely convinced by his own words. "Don't worry. Once we've tracked down the vehicle, we should be able to track down the suspects too."

"I hope so," said Amber. "Where's Bob?"

"No idea, but looks like Forensics finally made it," said Tim, nodding towards an approaching police van.

The van stopped a few feet away from the scene, and the back doors opened. Out stepped three people from the RPD's Forensics department, two men and a woman, all of whom she recognised from previous meetings. The first man was Derek Knowles, a quiet but very competent guy in his early thirties; he'd previously worked at Rose Bay City's police department before moving to Raccoon City, and she was glad he'd put in the transfer, because he was something of an expert in the field. The second was the new kid, Corey Dumont, a tall, skinny, dark-haired youth who reminded her more than a little of Rebecca; earnest, eager to please and always enthusiastic about his work. From what she'd seen of his work, David Ford's new protégé wasn't a bad photographer, either.

"All right, boys, get these people out of here before they mess up our crime scene!" ordered the third member of the Forensics team, striding towards the crime scene. "Come on, we can't get any work done until we've shooed away the vultures! I don't want any of these morons breathing down my neck while I'm working! They want to get a vicarious thrill out of other people's misfortune, they can go home and watch daytime TV or something, because I'm sure as hell not putting up with them hanging round here!"

Amber couldn't help smiling. Ruth Shackleton was little more than five feet tall, but what she lacked in height, the little redhead certainly made up for in belligerence. She'd gained fame and notoriety in equal measures after knocking out a colleague who had been stupid enough to belittle her, and she'd made it clear from then onwards that she had no time or tolerance for idiots. However, when it came to the job at hand, she could beat every single one of her colleagues hands-down in the patience stakes, and she had nerves of pure steel - there was nothing in the world that could faze her for even a moment.

"Hey, Tim, have we got any witness reports?" called Derek, unloading a big silver carry-case from the back of the van. "Thought I'd better check before Ruth scares everybody away."

"Got a whole bunch of 'em," replied Tim. "And no two alike, either."

Derek groaned.

"Bystander behaviour," he said, and picked up the case. "Don't you just love it? Eyewitness reports are a waste of time in cases like these. Nobody can agree on what they saw, and they all get to talk to each other while the reports are being taken, so you end up with a notebook full of half-truths, rumours and misinformation by the time you're done. So what _did _happen, anyway? I only got half the story."

"Homicide-stroke-traffic accident," said Amber. "Girl was trying to get away from the guys shooting at her and ran right in front of the trolley without looking. Perps are still at large, but I figure they probably left a whole bunch of evidence behind."

"Well, that's where we come in," said Derek patiently. "I hear it was an OIS too? Who was involved?"

"Me," said Amber right away.

"How many shots fired?"

"Seven. Two hits. Got one perp in the thigh, another in the shoulder."

"Two perps?" said Derek, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and snapping them on quickly.

"Three," corrected Amber.

"And no description?"

"Nothing useful," said Amber. "They were all male, average build, maybe about five-ten to six feet in height. They were wearing motorcycle helmets. I couldn't make out any facial features."

Derek just sighed.

"That's not going to make things much easier. Anyway, we're going to need your gun, Lieutenant."

In any other circumstances, Amber would have questioned this instruction, but she knew that the Forensics team would have to rule out her gun as a possible murder weapon and match up any bullets found at the scene in order to corroborate her story, so she handed it over straight away. Derek promptly bagged it, sealed the bag up and signed the seal with a permanent marker.

"Thanks," he said. "We might have to ask you some more questions later."

"No problem," said Amber wearily. "I'll either be at the precinct or back at my place. You shouldn't have any trouble trying to find me if you need me."

"Okay then," said Derek. "I'd better get going before Ruth starts yelling for me. Catch you guys later."

He hurried away, with the carry case banging against his legs. Across the street, David was unwinding a roll of police tape that Ruth had given him, while Kevin shooed away the remaining bystanders. The crowd was dispersing, and now they could see the real work taking place. Corey was kneeling down next to Bethany's body with the biggest camera that Amber had seen in her life, setting down markers and taking photographs with an ease that suggested great familiarity with photographic equipment. Ruth, meanwhile, was examining the tyre tracks that had been left behind by the perpetrator's speeding van, and Derek was carefully extracting the bullet from the side of the red Chevrolet.

"Better let them get on with it," said Tim.

"Yeah," Amber agreed. "Let's find Bob and get out of here - "

She glanced back at Corey, who was still taking photographs, and then a memory jumped out at her.

"Oh my God, the photos!" she shrieked, making Tim jump. "Where are they?"

"What photos?" said Tim, startled.

"Bethany's photos, the ones I brought with me!" said Amber frantically, looking around. "Where are they? If someone's picked them up… oh no, I have to find them! Tim, help me, we have to find them!"

She grabbed Tim by the hand and pulled him along the street after her, scanning the sidewalk with increasing desperation and trying to quell the panic growing in her breast.

_I must have dropped them outside Fiorelli's when I went for my gun… oh, God, I hope they're still there! Ford's going to knot my arms behind my head if he finds out I've lost those photos! I wasn't even meant to have them in the first place!_

"Hey, guys!" she heard Bob's voice ring out. "Are these ours?"

She looked up and saw Bob standing several feet ahead. He was holding up Bethany's discarded backpack and - joy of joys! - the envelope that contained Bethany's photographs.

"You found them!" Amber squealed, snatching the envelope from his hand and hugging the surprised man tightly, before opening the envelope and checking through the photographs. To her relief, all the pictures were present and correct, and still in pristine condition.

"Dropped them, huh?" said Bob, smiling weakly. He still looked queasy after his glimpse of the crime scene. "You should really be taking better care of those. Photos get damaged easily."

"I know… thank you so much for finding them," said Amber, clutching the envelope to her chest and silently vowing not to let it out of her sight again.

"How about the backpack?" said Bob. "That yours too?"

"No, no, that was Bethany's, we should leave that for Forensics," said Amber. "Then again," she said, after some reconsideration, "if you've already handled it, we might as well just take it back to her family, because it's no good as evidence. Won't have any DNA on it except Bethany's and your dirty fingerprints."

Bob shrugged.

"Whatever," he said. We'll take it back to the precinct and check it for ID, see if she's got a diary in there, maybe any numbers we can call to contact her next of kin."

Amber had been about to say that she knew where Bethany lived, but then another thought came to her. She knew where Bethany lived, and she'd been invited to come and see some photos that, by implication, incriminated Umbrella in something big. And if Umbrella knew or suspected this…

"That's the first place they'll go," she said to herself.

"What?" said Bob, then, "Hey!"

"Sorry, Bob, but this is an emergency," said Amber hastily, opening the backpack and rooting through its contents until she found a set of keys, right at the bottom. She pocketed these, zipped up the backpack again and swung it onto her shoulder.

"Guys, I need you to get me to Box Hill, pronto," she told them. "I know where our perps are heading! I just hope we're not too late…"

xxxxxxxxxx

As she'd expected, Bethany was living in one of the smartly refurbished apartment buildings on Box Hill. For those who couldn't afford a place in uptown, Brentford was the "in" place to live right now, with reasonable rents and a thriving music and art scene. Box Hill was a particularly fashionable address, as this was where the developers responsible for the district's regeneration had concentrated most of their efforts, and its apartment complexes were filled almost to bursting with well-heeled citizens, entrepreneurs and pretentious art students.

Of course, things hadn't always been this way. Years ago, Brentford had been a respectable middle-class area that had fallen on hard times. It had belonged neither to rich uptown nor proud downtown, but to an area of the city known as "Midtown". The other two districts that belonged to Midtown were Newbury, which was full of faded grandeur and people who never slowed down enough to notice it, and poor, crime-ridden, dilapidated Fairview, which in her grandparents' day had been a moderately respectable neighbourhood. Class-obsessed Brentford had been desperate to disassociate itself with its humbler neighbours and become part of uptown again, and in time, it had got its wish.

_How times have changed,_ thought Amber, as she got out of the car. Now that their area had gone back up in the world again, the original inhabitants of Brentford could hold their heads up so high that their noses were turned up at everything outside uptown. She could see a couple of well-dressed students staring at her with undisguised distaste from across the street.

_Not necessarily for the better, either,_ she thought, fighting off the childish temptation to stick out her tongue in response. _I liked this place better when it was still working hard for its recognition._"Any sign of them?" said Bob hopefully.

There was no sign of the black van, or Bethany's assailants; perhaps there was a chance that they'd beaten the men to the punch, thought Amber.

Tim was looking around, deliberately ignoring the rolled eyes and titters from the students, though Amber saw his eyes narrow just a little as one of the boys shouted some comment across the street.

"Nothing," he said finally. "Come on, let's go inside."

They entered the apartment building and went up the stairs. According to the details that Jill had given her over the phone, Bethany had lived on the third floor, in apartment 319. Amber repeated the number to herself as she hurried up the staircase, hoping that she was right and that the apartment had been left untouched.

However, as they reached the third floor, they saw a distressed-looking young woman with short dirty-blonde hair, who was chewing her nails as she paced up and down the corridor. She looked to be about Bethany's age, and she was wearing sandals, a short denim skirt, a vintage lace top, a green cardigan and several strings of beads round her neck - a classic art student look, one that Amber had always thought of as "more-indie-than-thou".

"Wow, you got here pretty quick," the girl said, turning to look at them in surprise. "Paolo only just called the police."

"What seems to be the problem, miss?" said Tim politely, climbing the last step.

"I heard a noise from down the hall, like someone slamming a door really loud and then trashing everything in sight," the girl said nervously, toying with a string of beads. "It came from my friend Bethany's apartment, but she just left for the day. Paolo and Jean-Paul went to see what was going on and they almost got knocked down the stairs by these three guys running out… I think they broke into Bethany's apartment and went through the place."

"How long ago did this happen?" said Tim quickly, to mask Amber's loud groan.

"About ten minutes ago," said the girl.

"And you didn't try to stop them?" said Amber, frowning.

The girl looked horrified.

"Of course not! The guys said they had _guns_! They almost got knocked downstairs as it was, they didn't want to get shot as well! I mean, we called the police right away… oh, and Michelle looked out the apartment window as they left, she said they were driving a black van. No markings. Does that help?"

"There are an awful lot of black vans in the city, miss," said Tim. "But we already have their registration and we've got a couple of units out looking for them."

"Three men, right?" Amber interjected. "Were they carrying anything?"

"Uh, Paolo said they had something in a bag, looked like a big paper envelope or something like that?" said the girl hesitantly. "I don't really know, I was in the kitchen at the time, making some tea for Michelle and Selena… hey, do you know these guys or something? I mean, if you're already out looking for them…"

"They're wanted for homicide," said Amber roughly, ignoring a warning look from Tim.

The girl's mouth opened in shock.

"Homicide?" she stammered. "What? You - you don't mean Bethany? I mean, that's not why you're here, right? You're just here about the break-in… aren't you?"

Tim shook his head.

"I wish we were," he said. "Miss Rove was killed in an incident on Main Street twenty minutes ago. We're here in connection with her death - we thought the men might have returned to her apartment after the incident. We didn't know about the break-in."

The colour drained abruptly from the girl's cheeks.

"She's dead?" she said faintly. "B-but I saw her just an hour ago, she was leaving to go meet an artist friend of hers somewhere in Coburg and… oh my God… I c-can't believe it… "

She started to cry.

"Hey Bob, go talk to her, write down everything she's just told us," Tim whispered. "Amber and I need to check out the apartment, make sure these punks didn't leave anyone behind. We don't want any more surprises today."

Bob nodded, and went over to the sobbing girl.

"Miss, I know this must be a real shock, but if you don't mind, I need to talk to you and your friends about what happened," he told her, taking out his notebook. "Can you do that for me?"

The girl nodded tearfully.

"All right," said Bob kindly. "Now let's start with your name."

"M-my name's India," the girl blurted out. "India Cunningham… I live in apartment 314, just down the hall…"

Tim and Amber left their friend to it and began treading cautiously down the corridor. Sure enough, the door of apartment 319 was hanging from its hinges, and there was debris all over the floor. There was no sign of life, friendly or otherwise; the three men were clearly long gone.

"Great," muttered Tim. "Just great. Think we'd better stay outside this time, Amber. Floor's wooden laminate, there might be some footprints that Forensics can work with. You don't want to mess them up. Besides, we've seen all we need to. Definitely a break-in."

Amber could only agree. The apartment had been comprehensively searched - or at least, the living room had. Photo albums had been yanked from the shelves of a bookcase and lay forlornly on the floor. The desk had been trashed too, as had a makeshift photo lab in the corner of the room; there were drifts of paper all over the floor, and something chemical was dripping onto the floor from a broken jar.

Another photo album was lying near the door, much further away than the others that had been taken from the bookcase. It appeared to have been discarded on the way out, probably because each of the spaces where a photograph should have been was instead empty.

Very carefully, ignoring the indignant protests from Tim that she was disturbing a crime scene, Amber turned the photo album over with her foot. The label on the cover read, in a neat hand:

__

"Springvale Trip - Summer '98"

Amber smiled to herself, just a little. It looked as though Umbrella hadn't approved of Bethany's trip up into the mountains.

"Some fraud," she said to herself.

She heard a fresh set of voices behind her, and turned to see Bob talking to a pair of officers - Alan and Jodie, both looking rather surprised at having been sent out to a daylight burglary in a respectable part of town.

"Hey Alan," she called. "I think this one's linked to the case I got caught up in just now. Same perps. Looks like they took a bunch of pictures from a photo album, and not much else."

Alan nodded.

"Okay, thanks," he said. "We'll check it out, but you'd better get back to the precinct, Amber. The Chief just heard about what happened down on Main and he's having a purple fit. He wants to speak to you right now, and I don't think it's because he wants to give you a promotion. He sounded really, _really _pissed."

Amber gulped. This was the last thing she needed to hear.

"Thanks," she said warily.

"Oh, and if I were you, I'd avoid David Ford, too," Alan advised her. "He's convinced you stole a bunch of photos from the darkroom and the last I saw of him, he was cleaning up that shotgun of his. He looks pretty pissed, too."

"I wouldn't say "pissed" so much as "mentally unstable"," Jodie cut in.

"Yeah, you might want to avoid him till he finds those pictures again," agreed Alan. "You know how obsessive he gets about the darkroom and photo stuff."

"Yeah," said Amber, quietly wondering if her day could possibly get any worse. Then again, an angry Chief Irons with a pink slip and an angry David Ford with a shotgun would probably take some beating. "Yeah. I get the picture."


	12. Aftermath

**12: Aftermath**

Amber looked around nervously, more out of habit than anything else. Aside from a slightly thicker coating of dust on some of the bottles, nothing much seemed to have changed since her last visit.

"Sit down, Bernstein," came the Chief's voice, from somewhere in the gloom.

Though she would have preferred to stand, the look on Chief Irons' face told her that irritating him by doing so would not be a good career move. With more than a little reluctance, she took one of the lilac-upholstered chairs out from underneath the table and dragged it in front of the Chief's desk. She sat down, folding her hands in her lap and trying to ignore the accusing stares of the dead animals that surrounded her on all sides.

Chief Irons picked up a newspaper from his desk. Glowering briefly at Amber, he unfolded it. The smell of fresh ink suddenly filled Amber's nostrils as the newspaper was flapped in her face.

"Do you see this, Bernstein?" she heard the man growl, from somewhere behind the front page.

Unfortunately, Amber could see it all too well. As if the words of the headline alone weren't cause enough for despair, she could see a smaller, angrier version of herself being forcibly restrained by Kevin as she tried to get at the grey-suited businessman. This image had been emblazoned on the front page in stark monochrome, with the caption "RPD denies police involvement in the tragedy" printed neatly beneath it.

_Death blow,_ she thought miserably. _I__'__m screwed._

"The evening edition of the _Raccoon Times_," said the Chief, in tones that sounded almost pleasant to the untrained ear. Even the untrained ear, however, could have sensed that all wasn't quite well; Amber's ear, which had been trained to pick up on warning signs from her superiors, sensed imminent disaster.

_This is what happens right before he loses it completely. I__'__m never going to get out of here with my job. Never._

"Tonight's headline," added Chief Irons, with a little smile. "Shall I read it out to you, in case you missed it the first time around?"

Amber shook her head hurriedly.

"No, sir, I already - "

" "_Woman In Trolley Death Collision_"," announced the Chief anyway, in a loud voice that reverberated around the office, and Amber cringed in her seat. " "_Officer-Involved Shooting Blamed For Accident_"."

He slammed the newspaper down onto the desk.

"Front page news, Bernstein!" he snarled. "What the _hell _did you think you were playing at? I've had complaints from the Mayor, three transport officials and eight different businesses on Main Street, and that's just the start of it! The phone hasn't stopped ringing all afternoon... and now it's all over the news! Tell me, Bernstein, what part of "not interfering in investigations relating to these attacks" did you fail to understand?"

"I w-wasn't investigating the attacks, sir," said Amber, trying to bring her shaking body back under control. "I was interviewing Miss Rove on Officer Ford's behalf after she claimed to have taken photographs of some _alleged _attacks in Box Hill. Officer Ford thought they were fake and he asked me for my opinion, but we couldn't agree, so I decided to verify them by - "

She almost leapt out of her seat as the Chief's fist came crashing down on the desk.

"I don't want any more excuses from you, Bernstein!" he roared. "Did I or did I not _specifically _order you not to interfere in anything connected to these attacks without my _express _permission?"

Amber shut her eyes tightly. Seeing the Chief turning an impressive shade of purple was an interesting sight - if not exactly the kind you wanted to look at - but she couldn't face that expression any more. He clearly wasn't buying it, and though he wasn't going to be any happier with the truth, it was slightly less likely to get her fired than another set of white lies and lame excuses.

"Yes, sir," she murmured. "You did."

It was hard to say at first if this had done any good. The Chief seemed no less furious than before, and the sight of the newspaper lying face-up on his desk only seemed to incense him even further.

"Well, I hope you're satisfied, Bernstein!" he burst out. "Thanks to your meddling, the press are on our backs and the reputation of this force is in the mud! I've spent _years _trying to improve relations between the public and this police department, and what do you do? Ruin it all in the space of a single day! All that hard work, gone to waste!"

"Hard work?" said Amber indignantly. "Bethany Rove is _dead_, Chief! Don't you think that's a little more important than some bad publicity?"

"She's only dead because of you!" Chief Irons shot back.

He sat down heavily, letting a hiss of ill-concealed rage escape from between his teeth, and picked up a fountain pen from the desk. As he got to work on a sheaf of reports, signing each page with a small grunt and an aggressive flourish, Amber began to wonder if the man was right.

_Did I really get Bethany Rove killed? Is it my fault she__'__s dead?_

She bit her lip as the image of Bethany lying dead in the road swam back into her thoughts, and she tried to banish it before it took hold. Dwelling on her involvement in the tragedy was the last thing she needed now, when her whole future was hanging in the balance…

The tension in the air was almost unbearable; the audience of stuffed animals seemed to be watching even more closely than ever, and Amber wondered if some of the trophies were holding their breath.

_No, Amber, don__'__t be stupid,_ she reminded herself._ They__'__re just dead animals. They__'__re not watching you, especially not that stupid cross-eyed buffalo head. Nothing that moth-eaten is in any position to be watching anything, least of all you._

Nevertheless, she shot a dirty look at the buffalo, before returning her attention to the Chief. He was scribbling his signature on the last report in the pile, and it was clear that he wouldn't be distracted for very much longer. Not wanting to be caught looking away at the wrong moment, Amber focused on the man behind the desk again and tried to look meek and attentive.

"You know, Bernstein, up until recently, I considered you to be one of my finest officers," Chief Irons said quietly, looking up.

Amber watched his expression intently, but remained silent and unmoving, for fear of sparking another outburst.

"You're an intelligent young woman," he continued, setting the papers aside and straightening up in his chair. "You work hard, and you clearly care a great deal about your job. I don't understand why you've suddenly become such a troublemaker."

Amber felt her face tightening into a scowl, but she knew she had to stay calm. If the Chief thought that he could manipulate her and she proved him right by getting angry, then she'd only be giving him an easy victory - along with a perfect excuse to fire her.

"I'm not a troublemaker, Chief," she muttered instead, lowering her eyes so that he wouldn't see her expression. "I'm just doing my job."

"I beg to differ, Bernstein," Chief Irons retorted. "You disobeyed orders. You _stole _police evidence. You intimidated witnesses, attempted to assault a member of the public, and opened fire _without authorisation _in the middle of a crowded street. As for your complete recklessness and lack of responsibility - "

Amber's head shot up and she opened her mouth to object, but the Chief held up a hand to silence her, and the protest instantly died on her lips.

"Shut up, Bernstein," he growled. "Your actions today resulted in the death of a member of the public and any number of possible lawsuits against the force. Don't make things worse for yourself."

He glared at her, so fiercely that Amber wondered if another interjection would get her killed on the spot.

"Your conduct today was inexcusable," he said curtly. "Frankly, I don't see any reason why I shouldn't fire you on the spot for your part in this whole sorry affair."

"Then why don't you?" Amber found herself blurting out, and regretted it almost instantly.

Chief Irons stiffened, as though he'd heard an unexpected noise. His moustache twitched a little, and his eyes started to bulge quite alarmingly; he looked as though he was about to explode.

_Oh no… why did I have to go and say something like that? Now he's going to fire me for sure!_

To her amazement, however, the Chief seemed to calm down again. His face went from a mask of mottled purple fury to a milder shade of pink as the rage dissipated from the inside. Now he was shaking his head, almost sadly.

"I just don't know what's wrong with you, Bernstein," he told her. "I really don't. Ever since the STARS came back ranting about zombies, you've been causing nothing but trouble."

_That__'__s because nobody else will,_ Amber thought, and wished that she could have voiced that sentiment aloud instead.

Chief Irons folded his hands primly.

"As I was saying, Bernstein, I've been watching your progress with great interest," he continued. "You've come a long way in just three years, and I think you have the potential to go much further."

"Thank you, sir," Amber murmured, staring down at her feet. It seemed the safest thing to do at this point.

"However," said the Chief sharply, "if you persist in wasting police time by opening useless lines of inquiry, or cause any further problems for this force, then I think your friends from STARS may wish to start looking through the small ads. I'm sure the "Help Wanted" section would be of great interest."

Amber's head jerked up again in alarm. She wasn't sure at first if she'd heard the man correctly, but confusion and disbelief soon gave way to horror as she realised that she'd understood him only too well.

She knew that she ought to be furious with the man, but the casual vindictiveness of the remark seemed to have sucked all the fighting spirit out of her; instead, she could only stare in helpless incredulity at the tubby, unsmiling man on the other side of the desk, while the tense silence between them grew.

"I don't understand, Chief," she said faintly, when she finally found the power to speak again. "Wh-why are you doing this?"

"Because I don't want to see one of my best officers being turned into a troublemaker," Chief Irons answered straight away. "I don't like troublemakers, Bernstein. And I won't tolerate any disruptive influences here. Not in my precinct."

He cleared his throat suddenly.

"Now I understand that you're only young, Lieutenant, and that you still lack some of the wisdom and experience of your colleagues," he told her. "I also know that you were affected very deeply by Officer Frost's death, and that bereavement can take its toll on even the most dedicated police officer. That's why I'm going to give you a second chance."

Chief Irons settled back in his chair.

"I'm prepared to overlook your involvement in this incident today, Bernstein," he informed her, folding his arms. Unexpectedly, his mouth twitched into a strange smile. "Of course, I do expect you to show a certain amount of… well, _gratitude_."

Amber felt herself scowl again. Something didn't sound quite right with that statement, and her police instincts were telling her to turn and run. Unfortunately, she suspected that escape was not an option in this case. You didn't make a sudden dash for the exit during a meeting with the Chief of Police, not even in the most trying circumstances.

"What do you mean, _gratitude_?" she said suspiciously, as the Chief left his seat and walked around to her side of the desk.

Chief Irons merely smirked, and walked behind her. He placed one hand on each of her shoulders, then gripped them tightly, pinning Amber to her chair. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and immediately cursed herself for not having listened to her instincts.

"You're an attractive woman, Bernstein," she heard him murmur in her ear. "I think you know what I'm talking about. I'm doing you a favour, after all… the least you can do is show your _appreciation_."

One hand loosened its grip on her shoulder and started to move down towards her chest, fingers ready to grasp -

Amber had a sudden, vivid image of Caitlyn Emerson, sobbing alone in the library. The memory of the young rookie's tear-stained face, her anguish, her helplessness, her fear of losing her job if she didn't keep that horrible encounter secret… but the aspect that had left the bitterest aftertaste was the girl's embarrassment. She'd been too frightened to stop him, and then so ashamed of what had happened next that she'd hardly dared to tell anyone, because she was so scared of being branded a liar.

_Or a troublemaker__…_

Amber had already had enough, but now Caitlyn's humiliation was crying out for vengeance too. With a yell of disgust, she wrenched herself free and pushed the Chief away, so hard that he stumbled backwards over the other chair.

"Get your hands off me, you sick bastard!" she yelled, as he hit the floor. "Fire me if you want, but you're not getting any _gratitude_ from me or anyone else who works here! Not now, not ever!"

Chief Irons scowled.

"Then I have no choice but to order a public inquiry… and a full disciplinary hearing into your conduct," he said shortly, picking himself up again. "Any action taken as a result of that hearing will, of course, go on your permanent record. Until then, you're confined to the precinct. You'll be spending the next fortnight on desk duty, and it goes without saying that you are forbidden from involving yourself in this morning's incident any further. The burglary case is now being handled by Officers Kingsley and Weyland, and the traffic accident by Officers McGraw and Ryman. You are not permitted to interfere with either investigation. Failure to comply will result in your _immediate _dismissal from the police force."

Amber's cheeks were burning with rage and humiliation. She turned away to leave, but then she found herself being abruptly grabbed by her shirt collar and hauled back in front of the man again.

"And if I _ever _see you in this office again, then I'll have your badge, Bernstein," hissed the Chief, his face just inches from hers. "Now get out of my sight."

Amber was only too willing to comply with this particular command. Not that she needed to be told to leave, she thought, as she hurried out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Nothing in the world could have compelled her to stay in that office for a second longer with that piggy-eyed pervert and his sweaty, grasping hands.

She shuddered at the memory of those pudgy hands, pinning her to the chair. She ought to have known that the man who'd tried to grope her in the library didn't have a single honourable intention towards her, but this was just beyond repulsive. How many other women had he tried to do this to?

"Bastard," she said quietly, in the ringing silence of the corridor. She wanted to kick the wall again, but she was shaking so hard that she didn't think she had enough strength left in her body to make even a tiny little dent in the plaster. Instead she shot a look of trembling hatred and loathing at the Chief's door, and walked unsteadily through to the waiting room.

Tim and David were already waiting for her when she entered the room. They both stood up expectantly as she closed the door.

"So how'd it go?" asked David, setting aside the month-old copy of _National Geographic_ that he'd been reading.

Amber sighed inwardly. Of course, they wouldn't have heard the commotion from here. There were two passageways and several doors standing in between the waiting room and the Chief's office, and the old walls of the police station were surprisingly thick.

"Not good," she told them.

David didn't look at all surprised by this revelation. Tim didn't either, now that she thought about it, but he seemed to have been hoping for better news; she saw the shadow of disappointment touching his face, and the flicker of hope dying in his eyes.

"Why, what happened?" he asked.

"Don't ask," Amber said sharply.

"Why?" said Tim, looking first startled, then perturbed. "You're - you're not fired, are you?"

"Worse," Amber said darkly.

"Worse?" said Tim. "What do you mean, _worse_?"

"Yeah, what's worse than fired?" David pitched in.

"How about two week's desk duty, being confined to the station, forbidden to work on any of my cases, and then having to face a full disciplinary hearing?" Amber retorted, and saw both men shudder visibly, as though someone had poured ice water down the backs of their shirts.

"Ouch," said Tim, with feeling.

"Yeah," said Amber, grimacing. "I wish he'd just fired me."

She walked past them and opened the waiting room door, stepping out onto the concourse.

As the two men followed her out of the waiting room, Amber leaned on the oak railings and looked down. From up here on the second-floor mezzanine, you got a great view of the lobby, making it the perfect place to stand and watch the rest of the RPD staff going about their business. Right now, she could see Gus sweeping the lobby floor and humming a quiet tune to himself, while the three secretaries dutifully got on with their work at the main desk.

"You going to be all right?" said Tim behind her.

Amber nodded mutely, too deep in thought to tear her eyes away from the peaceful scene below her. There were a few police officers down there too, with arms full of case files and other bits of paperwork, all on their way to other parts of the station. She knew that each and every one of them would still have jobs this time next month. The question was, would she?

"… if you want, maybe Officer Ryan and I can speak to the Chief," Tim said hesitantly. "I mean, Nick's in charge of personnel, and I'm a union rep now and everything. I'm sure if we both talked to him, we could change his mind and - "

"No, Tim," said Amber quietly. For a moment she wanted to cry, and she had to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop the tears from coming. "It's all right. I - I can handle this on my own."

"Well, if you're sure…" said Tim doubtfully.

"Positive," said Amber, biting down on her cheek again.

"Amber, are you sure you're okay?" It was David's voice behind her this time, though she'd never heard him sound this concerned. "Only you look pretty shaken up…"

Biting her cheek wasn't enough this time. Amber felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and hoped that nobody down below could see her.

"I'm fine," she told him, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. "Just fine. Really."

"Well, okay," said David reluctantly. "I'd stick around longer, but I've got to do all the paperwork for this afternoon. I'll catch you guys later."

Amber turned her head, just a little, to watch David leave. When he'd gone, she took her grip off the railings and looked down at her hands.

After returning to the precinct, she'd done her best to clean herself up in the few minutes that she'd been given before her appointment with the Chief. She'd changed her shirt and she'd washed her face and hands, but no matter how hard she'd tried, she hadn't been able to rid herself of the stench of blood. Even now she could see little smears of reddish-brown under her fingernails, and a few suggestions of dried blood in the creases of her palms.

_Bethany__'__s blood, all over my hands__…__ I__'__m not sure if I__'__ll ever really be able to wash it off. No matter how much I try to wipe it away, I__'__ll still know it__'__s there._

Tim must have sensed what was going on in her head, because she suddenly felt his hand resting on her shoulder.

"Amber," she heard him say gently. "I understand if you don't want to talk about this right now, but - well, I really think you should talk to somebody. You know, when you've had time to think things over. Me, Marvin, Rita, Kevin, David… we're all here for you, so just say the word if you want to get things off your chest. Hell, I know you'd probably rather handle all this by yourself. Just… don't feel like you have to, okay?"

Not wanting to speak, for fear of shattering her self-control and breaking down in noisy tears, Amber nodded.

Tim seemed to take this as sufficient reply; returning the nod, he turned around and walked away along the concourse. He had gone less than halfway when Amber suddenly burst out:

"I could have handled this, Tim… I _should _have handled this. Damn it, why did I let her go out there alone? The Chief's right, it's my fault she's dead! She'd still be alive if I'd done things right!"

"Now hey," said Tim firmly, returning to her side and putting his hand on her shoulder again. "You _know _that's not true. Don't start blaming yourself for all this."

"I should have just shot them dead," said Amber, closing her eyes.

Tim sighed impatiently.

"Amber, you know why we can't do stuff like that."

"Yeah, I know…"

"It's different if you've been called out to take down a gunman, but acting of your own accord when you're on-scene and the boys back at the station don't know what the situation is? Yeah, sure, it's your call, but it's your ass as well."

Though Amber hated to admit it to herself, Tim was right. To shoot a suspect dead would be to risk incurring the combined wrath of the Chief and the deceased's relatives - and without conclusive proof or reliable witnesses to support your actions, the consequences could be dire. Even if you somehow managed to avoid the courtroom or serious disciplinary action back at the precinct, you'd still be confined to the station on desk duty and forced to scale the treacherous slopes of Mount Paperwork for weeks or even months on end. She'd seen only too often that protecting and serving the public wasn't always appreciated by the good people of Raccoon City, and that doing your duty carried all sorts of unforeseen hazards.

"You know, maybe you should go home early today, Amber," said Tim at last. "Call in sick. You've had a rough day."

"What about my shift?" said Amber, as she wiped her eyes.

"Me and Marvin'll cover you, don't worry," said Tim. "Go home and get some rest."

Amber half-smiled.

"Thanks, Tim."

"Hey, don't mention it," said Tim generously. "Now go on, take off before someone sees you."

xxxxxxxxxx

Before Amber could leave the station, though, there was still work to be done. Despite Marvin's reassurances that the reports were being taken care of by the officers reassigned to her cases, Amber had insisted on seeing the official version of the traffic "accident" for herself.

Kevin's handwriting hadn't improved much since junior high, she thought, although the report was just about legible. Once she'd read it through, however, she couldn't help wondering afterwards if deciphering her friend's horrible handwriting had been worth the effort. The whole thing was a load of garbage - and it wasn't Kevin-inspired garbage, either.

Oh, the writing was Kevin's, there was no doubt about that, but the wording was all wrong; in fact, it looked suspiciously as though he'd been told beforehand what to write, and then had someone standing behind him and looking over his shoulder while he wrote it down, to ensure that his every word would precisely match the official, approved version of events.

She wanted to scrunch the whole thing up into a ball and toss it into the nearest wastepaper basket, or put it through the shredder… or better yet, tear it to ribbons, head back upstairs to the second-floor concourse and send the pieces tumbling out over the foyer like so much confetti. However, this collection of lies masquerading as an incident report was bound instead for a shelf in the Records Room - a complete falsehood about to be mislabelled as the truth. It made her sick to think that she was having to enshrine it amongst all the other official reports from weeks, months, years and decades past, instead of destroying it immediately and replacing it with a true account of the morning of Sunday August 16th, 1998.

_I only wish I could. My job__'__s already on the line as it is,_ she thought. _But once I get through this disciplinary hearing, then I__'__m going to write my own report, and then I__'__m coming back here to set the record straight. Lies don__'__t belong in police files._

Until then, though, she'd just have to do as she was told. Tucking the offending piece of paper uneasily under her arm, Amber left the west office and went over to a set of double doors on the same side of the foyer. These doors led to the small, drab waiting room, where members of the public sat and waited patiently (in theory, at least) until it was their turn to go up to the Enquiries desk.

As a rookie officer, she'd spent many interminable hours sitting in the west office on the other side of that glass screen, dealing with the various minor requests that the police received from the citizenry on a daily basis. They were often to do with reporting lost property, missing pets or the kind of incidents that didn't require squad cars but nevertheless needed to be brought to police attention for whatever reason - mostly stolen credit cards, reports of graffiti, minor acts of vandalism and, increasingly these days, complaints about loud neighbours, loitering youths and the activities of over-zealous traffic cops.

Neil Carlsen was manning the Enquiries desk today, and he wasn't looking terribly happy about it, either. There were four other people sitting on the leather-upholstered bench by the windows, glowering at him from across the room while a ferocious-looking old lady stood at the counter, complaining shrilly that the police were doing nothing to locate her missing cat. She appeared to have been there for quite some time, but there seemed to be no end to her complaints, and now Carlsen was beginning to look rather less than impressed by the old woman's loud, rambling denunciation of the town's entire police force.

"Look, ma'am," he said at last, interrupting her invective in mid-flow. "I'm sorry, but we're not actually _responsible _for missing cats. Other than putting up a bunch of posters around town and appealing to the public for information, there's not a whole lot we can do. Don't get me wrong, we'd love to have enough spare time to be able to go out and look for your cat, but we're overstretched as it is. Why don't you try the animal shelter instead - maybe someone thought he was a stray and brought him there."

Harrumphing slightly and looking deeply affronted, the old lady swept out of the waiting room in a gust of strong perfume and slammed the door behind her. Right on cue, everyone else breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad that's over," Carlsen muttered. "I _hate _cats. Damn things give me allergies. All right, who's next?"

A petite Japanese student in jeans and a black t-shirt stood up, somewhat hesitantly, and made her way over to the desk. She had bobbed dark hair and rather plain features, and wore a nervous expression. Clearing her throat, she asked rather shyly if anyone had handed in her backpack.

"It's a black one," she told him, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in the baggy green dress shirt that she was wearing over her t-shirt. "It has a lot of textbooks and stuff in it, and my new Walkman. Oh, and my college ID, that's in there too. I think I left it on the subway, but I'm not really sure…"

"Funny you should ask, someone turned one in about an hour ago," Carlsen replied, raising his eyebrows. "They found it at a subway station in Newbury, near the university. What's your name, miss?"

"Yoko Suzuki."

"So I guess this would be yours?" said Carlsen, grinning suddenly and producing a black backpack. At the sight of it, the girl broke into a beaming smile that seemed to transform her features entirely; even if it didn't exactly make her beautiful, she could pass for pretty with such a bright smile on her face.

"Yes!" she cried, overjoyed. "Yes, that's it! Thank you so much!"

"No problem, miss, we'll get someone to bring it round to you now," said Carlsen. "If you'd just like to sign for it - oh, hey Lieutenant," he called out, noticing Amber. "You hear about that big traffic accident on Main? Pretty nasty. Kevin just told me some poor kid got killed."

"Yeah, I heard about it," mumbled Amber, manoeuvering around the tall wooden screen that marked the boundary between the public area of the waiting room and a door leading through to the next corridor.

Like most of the working parts of the station, this area was strictly off-limits to the public. Considering the state of this particular corridor, Amber decided that this was probably a good thing. On the other hand, the public definitely wouldn't have been able to complain about their tax dollars being squandered on interior decoration. The two-tone walls were greyish and dark grey, but the grime they had accumulated made it hard to determine what colours the decorators had really used all those years ago. The dingy hallway smelled of damp, the floor tiles were starting to warp, and pieces of junk and boxes of defunct paperwork had been stacked untidily up against the walls, which only served to further the air of general neglect.

She turned the corner and headed for the door on her right. This was the Records Room, where all the station's case files and reports eventually ended up. She opened the door carefully, so as not to hit anyone who might be standing on the other side, and went in.

It was a small room with bare walls, and it was made smaller still by the tall metal shelving units that housed the city's police records. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of case files stored in this room, all kept in imperfect alphabetical order, as well as a substantial collection of video evidence; the room was almost full to bursting now, and there was talk afoot of moving the entire collection elsewhere, possibly to one of the outbuildings.

Somehow, someone had managed to squeeze a copy machine in here for the purpose of convenience. If the rumours of moving the room's contents to another room or building were true, then she felt sorry for whoever ended up with the job of moving that thing - it probably weighed a ton.

Amber moved quietly past the shelves, searching for the case file she needed, and it wasn't long before she reached the letter R. Two additional minutes of searching turned up a file marked "Rove, Bethany".

"Sorry, Bethany," she said quietly, and was about to slip Kevin's report into the file when something caught her eye.

She'd remembered David Ford telling her something about Bethany and some fraudulent sexual harassment suits filed against her previous employers, and this was probably what he had been referring to. At first glance, it had all appeared to be in order, but now that she looked closer…

"_Bettany Rothes?_"

The dates were all wrong, too. These claims were _years _old. Unless Bethany's employers had been violating some kind of child labour statute by employing someone still in elementary school, they couldn't possibly have been filed by her.

Amber felt her face flushing with anger again. Nobody had believed Bethany about the photos when she was alive, at least in part because a clerical error had led to the girl being branded as a chronic attention-seeker. Now, even in death, nobody was paying Bethany the attention that she deserved. Her demise was being officially written off as a tragic accident and her work as an elaborate hoax. It wasn't fair. Still, there was something she could do to put things right…

It took some time to find the file marked "Rothes, Bettany". It had fallen off the back of its shelf at some point in the past, and had lain forgotten in the dark, dusty space between shelving units ever since, wedged less than six inches above the floor. Amber spent a few minutes checking both files, then she removed the paperwork relating to the harassment suits and put it back where it belonged. Feeling slightly better now that Bethany's reputation could no longer be maligned by a piece of careless misfiling, she replaced both files on the shelf and left the room.

When Amber re-entered the waiting room, the bench was empty and Carlsen was no longer sitting at the Enquiries desk. The only person in the room was Elliot Edward, smoking a cigarette as he stapled another flyer to the wall.

The room's grey walls were permanently covered with flyers. Most of them were appeals for information about wanted criminals, lost pets and missing children. The collection was always changing; most of the law's fugitives were caught quite quickly, and while new wanted posters turned up with depressing frequency, they tended not to stay up for long. Lost pet posters came and went, too, as Rover, Topsy, Snuffles and Mr Tigger were reunited with their owners - sadly, thanks to the busy downtown roads, not all of the lost pets went home three-dimensional.

It was the missing children that really got her down. Some of those flyers had been there for years. One had been there for so long that the sunlight had faded the ink to pale shades of blue, and Amber sometimes wondered what had happened to that particular child. Had the kid somehow found his way home to his parents, making the flyer an unwitting anachronism? She hoped so. The thought of all those mothers and fathers sitting by the phone every day, hoping desperately for news of their missing son or daughter… it was heartbreaking, knowing that some of those people would never be reunited with their children.

"Please tell me that's not another missing kid," she groaned, walking up to see what Elliot was doing.

Elliot shook his head.

"Nah, don't worry. Just a lost dog. Some pampered little toy poodle called Lulu ran away from a rich old socialite's dog-walker down in Whitchley last week. The old lady's housekeeper came down this afternoon with a stack of flyers a foot high. There's a five hundred dollar reward for whoever finds it."

"Five hundred dollars?" said Amber, trying not to sound too relieved.

"Yeah, not bad for an over-manicured little ball of fur, huh?" laughed Elliot. "Might swing by uptown myself after work and have a look, see if I can track it down. I could do with bringing home a little extra dough this month…"

Amber glanced from Elliot's cigarette to the "No Smoking" sign displayed prominently on the wall, but decided against drawing his attention to it. She'd had enough work-related stress for one day, and didn't like the idea of being chased out of the building by a disgruntled nicotine addict with a loaded stapler. Instead, she returned to the west office and collected her things, had a quiet word with Marvin, then headed out into the late afternoon sunshine.

The trip home took slightly longer than usual, but even with a large section of Main Street still cordoned off, the delays weren't nearly as bad as she'd expected. She took a brief detour to pick up some groceries on the way back to St James East, and found to her dismay that everybody was discussing the Main Street "accident". Was there to be no escaping this nightmare?

By the time she finally got back to her apartment building, she'd been stopped by at least three neighbours asking if she'd heard about what had happened on Main Street, and her mood was starting to take a distinct turn for the worse.

_As soon as I get in, I__'__m going to bed,_ Amber thought, clutching her bag of groceries tightly to her chest as she climbed the stairs. _At least that way I won__'__t be able to do anything else wrong. Not that my life can probably go much more wrong. Right now I think things are just about as bad as they can -_

Shock made Amber's breath catch in her chest. Dread froze it solid somewhere around her heart. Disbelief loosened her grip and sent her groceries tumbling from her arms, but the sound of falling cans and the thud of an orange rolling downstairs didn't even register - she was too busy staring in horror at her open front door.

"Jason!" she shrieked, ignoring her fallen groceries and hurling herself in the direction of the doorway. Her imagination was already painting terrible pictures of a trashed apartment, furniture overturned, bloodstains on the walls and her brother missing, no, slumped dead on the floor in a puddle of his own drying blood, something she could have prevented so easily if only she hadn't left him alone and -

"Hey, sis. Didn't think you'd be back already."

Amber's heart skipped a couple of beats and she almost fell as she stumbled in through the front door. Clutching the wall for support, she managed to straighten up and saw Jason sitting on the couch quite contentedly, with the controller for his games console resting in his lap. Sitting next to him was her fretful neighbour, Howard Arkenham, who had been given the other controller and was concentrating hard on whatever was on the TV screen.

"What - what the _hell_ are you doing?" she managed to exclaim, when her heartbeat had stopped pounding in her ears.

"We're playing _Roadkill_," said Jason, who seemed entirely untroubled by his sister's sudden appearance. "Think we're on level eight, but I'm not sure. Been waiting for Howard to finish his round."

"_Roadkill_," said Amber faintly. "You're playing _Roadkill_…"

"Apparently this game's so nasty, brutish and mindlessly violent that it's been banned in thirty-seven countries," piped up Howard, who was jiggling the controller about and pressing buttons furiously.

"But not the US of A," said Jason triumphantly. "God bless America."

Amber was left speechless for a moment. She'd never cared much about violence in video games - it was the real-life kind that bothered her. Somehow, though, it seemed appallingly insensitive of her brother to be cheerfully running down pixellated gangsters in a Ferrari when she'd seen a young woman get hit by a trolley car just a few hours ago.

"And what the hell is _he _doing here?" she managed to say, and pointed at Howard.

"Oh, Howard? He dropped by earlier to say hi and ask if you needed anything from the store. I told him you were going anyway and I invited him in," said Jason, shrugging.

The sound of an explosion came from nowhere, and Howard groaned.

"There goes my last life," he said to Jason. "Your turn."

"Bad luck, dude," Jason sympathised, and took up his controller. He pressed a couple of buttons and began his round of the game.

"D-do you even know who he _is_?" said Amber indignantly.

"Sure, Howard's your new neighbour," said Jason right away. "He said he moved into the apartment upstairs last week."

"And how did you know he was telling the truth?" said Amber, aghast at her brother's complete lack of common sense. "He could have been _anybody _for all you knew! You just accepted what he told you and let him walk straight into my apartment, and after I warned you how important it was to be careful!"

"Look, I was _bored_, okay?" said Jason, a touch irritably, rolling his eyes and pressing a series of buttons in quick succession. Tyres screeched, and there was a faint yell as another gangster got run over by Jason's Ferrari. "You've made me stay in this stupid apartment for _days _with nobody to talk to. All I wanted was someone to keep me company for a while and play a couple of games, that's all. What's the big deal?"

"Jason, have you completely lost your mind?" cried Amber. "Did it not occur to you that inviting in some guy who just shows up on the doorstep and letting him play video games with you might actually be a really, really stupid idea?"

"Hey, the dude wasn't even going to come in until I asked him!" Jason protested. "It's no big deal, okay? Why are you freaking out?"

"Because you're an _idiot_!" Amber found herself bawling at him, much louder than she would ever normally have raised her voice. She'd never felt so angry in her whole life. Was he trying to get himself killed? If he'd open the door to Howard, someone he'd never met before in his life, then who else might he end up opening the door to when she was out at work?

There was a tiny little cough from the couch.

"Um… is this a bad time?" said Howard meekly, looking up from the TV screen. He looked awkward and ill at ease, as anyone would if they suddenly found themselves caught up in someone else's argument.

Amber resisted the urge to yell at him too, and tried to recover some of her composure.

"Yes, Howard," she said, sighing. "I'm afraid it is. It's a very bad time."

"Oh. Um, okay… sorry to bother you, Miss Bernstein," said Howard humbly, getting up from his seat and placing his controller carefully on the floor in front of the television. "Maybe I should come back some other time instead - I mean, if that's okay with you…"

"Sure, stop by any time you want," said Jason, still cheerfully blind to his sister's infuriation.

"Uh, thanks," said Howard uncomfortably, edging towards the open door; he seemed to have noticed the murderous look that Amber was now giving her brother. "But I'd better go now. Thanks again."

He left through the front door, as fast as politeness allowed. The door slammed and Amber immediately rounded on her brother.

"What the hell were you _thinking_, inviting in someone you've never met before?" she yelled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been? What if it hadn't been Howard? What if it had been someone else?"

"So what if it _had_ been?" Jason shot back. "Come on, give me a break already! I don't know what you're being so totally paranoid about all of a sudden! Like, what's the worst that could happen?"

"You don't even know the half of it, Jason!" yelled Amber.

"The half of what?" said Jason suspiciously. "What's this all about, anyway?"

"Look, just drop it, all right?" Amber snapped. "I'm going to take a shower. Don't even think about opening that door to anyone, or you'll be in more trouble than you've ever been in your whole life."

"All right, I get it," complained Jason, returning to his video game. "Sheesh…"

Amber stormed out of the room, sweeping through the kitchen and her bedroom in a whirlwind of bad temper. She was so deeply immersed in her own anger that she hardly noticed the little piles of dirty plates stacked up beside the kitchen sink, or the damp bathroom towels and old socks discarded carelessly next to the laundry basket - both the handiwork of her little brother, to whom the concept of housework was entirely alien.

She went into the bathroom and undressed, tossing her uniform aside. For once, she couldn't care less what state it ended up in. She felt almost ashamed to wear it today; it served only as a reminder that she was being ordered to neglect her duties to the people who really needed her, and forced instead to pander to the whims of her masters - ignorant, apathetic citizens who only cared about tragedies if they were sensationally bloody, and a vindictive police chief who preyed on the vulnerable and tried to sap the strength of those who weren't already too weak to stand up to him. Where was the pride in protecting and serving _that_?

She changed into her bathrobe and leaned over to turn on the shower. Hot water hissed out of the showerhead, sending up a cloud of thick steam. This looked just a little too hot for her liking, so she reached into the shower to turn down the temperature -

_Clunk._

The faucet came off in her hand. Amber stared at it for a moment, then groaned and tried to screw it back on, with little success. The sleeves of her terrycloth bathrobe were soaked through with hot water and clinging limply to her arms, no longer warm and fluffy, but hot and unpleasantly damp. Amber turned the shower off and tried again, but soon gave up.

"How the hell did - " she muttered to herself, but the thought came to her so quickly that the sentence didn't even need finishing.

She took a deep breath.

"Jason," she said sweetly, in a voice that came out sounding entirely at odds with - yes, the expression of near-homicidal rage looking back at her from the bathroom mirror. "Did you try and take a _shower _after I left?"

"Uh, yeah," came the distant reply. "Why? Something wrong?"

"You didn't _break _anything, did you?" said Amber, with forced casualness. "Like… oh, I don't know - the faucet?"

Jason appeared at the door.

"Oh, you mean the temperature knob thingy?" he said vaguely. "Yeah, it kind of came off in my hand when I tried to turn the temperature up to 11."

"Are you brain-dead?" Amber hissed, grabbing her little brother by the collar of his t-shirt. "_The temperature only goes up to 10!__"_

"It does?" said Jason, sounding puzzled, as she pushed him away again. His expression wavered for a few moments, then it returned to what Amber always thought of as his default setting - happy, mindless obliviousness to everything going on outside his head. "Oh. Well, it doesn't matter. I fixed it back on for you."

"Oh, you fixed it back on," said Amber sarcastically. "What, you mean like _this_?"

The broken faucet had been aimed straight at his head, but she'd forgotten about her brother's sporting prowess; Jason simply reached up and snatched it neatly out of the air, as though it had been the easiest catch in the world. With a degree of surprise, he looked at the object now resting in the palm of his hand.

"I thought I'd fixed it back on pretty good," he said, and now his raised eyebrows were barely visible beneath his curly hair. "Jeez, Amb, what did you _do_?"

"What did I do?" said Amber, her voice rising to a shriek. "What did I _do_? I tried to _use my own shower_, you - you - you _stupid_ - "

There had been words there in her head - eloquent in their phrasing, dramatic in their fury, devastating in their impact - but somehow, they seemed to have deserted her in her hour of need. The grief, rage, fear and frustration that had been building steadily inside her all day now overwhelmed her, all at once, drowning out every voice of sanity and reason that had helped her keep the last of her self-control in place.

She stared at her little brother for some moments, trying to stay angry - anger kept away the despair - but it was no use. The first quiet sob broke through her parted lips, and then suddenly she was crying, so hard that she found herself fighting to draw breath.

"Amb?" said Jason, his eyes widening; suddenly he looked frightened. "Sis? Wh- what is it? What's wrong?"

Even if she could have summoned up the words she'd needed to explain, Amber couldn't find enough breath to reply. Sobs shuddered through her body as she sank to her knees. She could feel hot, bitter tears flowing down her cheeks, dripping onto the cloth of her bathrobe and making little splashes on the floor tiles.

"No, no, don't cry, dude," Jason said desperately, flinging himself onto his knees beside her and hugging his sister tightly. "Pl-please don't cry… I'm sorry about the shower, I tried really hard to fix it… I didn't mean to break it… look, if you're scared about your landlady being mad with you again, you don't have to be, 'cause I'll totally pay someone to fix it for you properly… hey, I'll do all the chores for you for the next month, even the dishes and stuff, and I promise I'll stop drinking milk straight out of the carton… just stop crying, okay? Please…?"

Amber looked up through sore, blurry eyes at her brother, who clearly thought that this fit of hysteria was only happening because he'd broken one thing too many. That look of anguish and utter helplessness was something she'd seen before many times in the line of duty, but on the face of her carefree little brother, it seemed almost frighteningly out of place.

"Jason, this - it sounds stupid, but this isn't about you breaking the shower," she admitted. "I've had a really, _really _bad day today and I… when I saw the door open, I thought something terrible had happened to you."

"Why?" said Jason, who still looked shaken by her outburst. "Wh-what happened?"

Amber grimaced, but there didn't seem to be any way she could put this off for much longer. Her brother was already starting to ask awkward questions - sooner or later, she'd have to start giving him some answers, or risk letting him attempt to find them for himself. Ignorance may have been bliss to Jason for a while, but ignorance of the danger he was in now would surely only get him into more danger later on.

_Time to come clean__…_

"Jason? About all this…" she began, gesturing vaguely to their surroundings. "I know I didn't tell you why I brought you here, or why I've kept you pretty much under lock and key lately, and I'm sorry I haven't been honest with you. It's just that things have been getting very awkward at work lately, and I thought you were better off not knowing why."

Jason's forehead wrinkled.

"I don't get you, sis," he said.

"You see," said Amber awkwardly, "there's a special unit at the police station. I have some friends who work there. They've been involved in an… an anti-corruption case. A really big one, involving a rich and powerful multinational company. Several of us have been working on this case, including me, and, well… let's just say that this company isn't too impressed with what we're doing."

Jason's eyebrows shot up.

"Whoa," he said. "Corruption? You mean like the mob and stuff?"

"Not exactly," said Amber carefully. "But some of the officers tied up in this case have received death threats and - well, you probably won't have heard the news yet, but someone got killed in downtown a few hours ago. She was one of our informants, and while they're saying it was an accident, I saw the whole thing and there was _definitely_ foul play involved. They even trashed her apartment and stole some evidence that she'd intended to hand over to the police."

Jason's mouth was wide open with astonishment.

"The girl who got killed - what happened?" he said. "Was it a hit-and-run or something?"

"No," said Amber. "It was more like a drive-by. Happened shortly after I met with her. I tried to take them down but they shot at her a couple of times, she panicked, and she ran straight out in front of the trolley. She didn't see it coming until it was too late. They got what they wanted, Jason. They drove her right to her death - and even better, they made it look just like a traffic accident. The Chief's furious. He says it's all my fault and now I'm up for a disciplinary hearing. There's even going to be a public inquiry."

For a second, Jason looked speechless.

"Dude, are you _serious_?" he eventually burst out. "Why is it _your _fault? You tried to save her!"

"Right, but you tell that to the newspapers," said Amber. "They'd much rather believe that I screwed up in the line of duty. Now my job's on the line, one of our informants is in the morgue, the whole investigation's in jeopardy, and those guys are probably after me too."

"After _you_?" said Jason. "Why?"

"Jason, even before our informant got killed today, my colleagues have been taking those death threats very seriously," Amber told him. "One of them's sending his whole family to go and live abroad so he knows they'll be safe."

"What about him?" said Jason, frowning. "Won't whoever's behind this want him dead and not his family?"

"No, I don't think you get it, Jason," said Amber wearily. "Those death threats were directed towards his family. They said that if he didn't withdraw from the investigation, then his wife and kids would get it."

Jason was suddenly very quiet.

"Amb… did those guys send you one of those death threats too?" he said at last. "Is that what this whole thing is all about? Is that why you kept sending me to stay with all those different buddies of yours?"

Amber nodded.

"Jeez," said Jason, almost in a murmur. "So they've threatened to _kill_ me? Actually kill me just because you're working on a case and they want you to stop?"

Amber nodded again, trying to choke back the lump bobbing up in her throat. Her eyes were starting to brim with tears again. She'd never envisioned having to confess to her own brother that she'd put him in harm's way for the sake of an investigation.

_He must think I've betrayed him… all for the sake of my job. God, he must hate me right now for getting him into this._

"You're not going to stop, though, right?" said Jason abruptly.

"What?" said Amber, taken aback.

"I said, you're not going to give up the case, are you?" Jason repeated. "Not just because of me?"

"Jason, I - "

"Amb, you can move me around the city all you want," he told her fiercely. "You can yell and throw things at me if I screw up, you can make me wear body armour and hide behind the couch all day with a loaded shotgun every time someone knocks at the door… I don't care. But what you most _totally_ cannot do is give up a case like this. Not because of me, dude. No way."

"What are you talking about?" said Amber, now more bewildered than ever by her brother's response to the situation. "Why not?"

"This is seriously cool!" said Jason, his eyes shining. "My big sis is working on a case that could bring down some big evil corrupt company and they're doing everything they can to stop you, and no matter what they threaten to do to you, you're still not giving up! How awesome is that? You're like a - a superhero, or something! Dude, do I have to keep this a secret?"

"Yes!" yelped Amber. "Don't tell _anyone _I told you about this! You aren't meant to know anything! Whatever else happens, you mustn't repeat a word of what I've just told you!"

"Sure thing," said Jason. "So do you still want me to stay indoors and hide and stuff?"

"Of course I do!" Amber said. "There could be anybody out there! You could be walking down the street one minute, and then the next thing you know, _bang_, you're dead! Why do you think I was so scared about you letting people into my apartment? It could have been one of those guys who killed our informant!"

"So _that__'__s _why you were freaking out," said Jason, nodding. "Okay, I promise I won't go outside ever again, as long as you catch the bad guys and don't give up on your case. Hey, you want to play something?"

"What?" said Amber. "You want me to play video games with you? After I just warned you that we're both in terrible danger and could be taken out by hitmen any day now if I carry on with the investigation?"

"Sure."

Amber didn't know for a moment whether to yell at him for being stupid or burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her brother's request, but then she conceded defeat. There was something about Jason's oddly unshakable optimism that made him hard to argue with - and it wasn't actually a bad idea. Since there wasn't much she could do about her current situation, she might as well do something else to take her mind off it for a little while.

"Hell, why not," she said, shrugging. "What do you want to play?"

"I've got _just _the thing to cheer you up," said Jason, brightening and springing to his feet. He pulled Amber upright and dragged her after him into the living room. Burrowing in the little heap of boxes beside his games console, he let out a triumphant "Ta-da!" and produced a luridly-coloured box, which he passed to his sister for inspection.

"_Mutant Samurai Death Ninjas_," she read flatly. "You mean people actually _play _crap like this?"

"All the time," said Jason cheerily, leaping onto the couch and picking up his controller. "I've already unlocked Cage Match Mode and eight of the ten Bonus Death Rooms. I just need to find the Sword of Ultimate Destiny and win the final round with the Blood Emperor, and then I can get the extra costumes too."

"Samurai and ninjas _aren__'__t _the same thing," said Amber, as she studied the back of the case. The game had been rated R; presumably this stood for "Really, Really Violent", which appeared to be an accurate designation, at least if the synopsis and pictures were anything to go by. "And why are they all meant to be mutants again?"

"Don't know, don't care," said Jason, shrugging. "Let's play!"

xxxxxxxxxx

**Monday 17th August, 1998**

Though she'd somehow managed to fall out of bed on time this morning, Amber's head still ached with tiredness. She and Jason had ended up playing video games well into the night, and she'd woken up with sore, bloodshot eyes and a brain so clouded by fatigue that even the simplest of tasks seemed arduous.

_That__'__s the last time I stay up past midnight playing Roadkill with Jason_, she told herself firmly, making a beeline for the coffee machine outside the east office. _Never again. Not even if he offers to let me win once in a while__…_

She fished in her pocket for change, then made herself the strongest, sweetest black coffee that the coffee machine's settings would allow. What eventually ended up in the plastic cup was a jet-black mixture of sugar, hot water and pure caffeine, but this suited Amber just fine. She picked it up gratefully and headed into the office.

A couple of cops glanced up from their work for a moment, but otherwise, her entry caused little or no disturbance in the smooth running of the office. Satisfied that today was going to be a quiet and uneventful day, blessedly untroubled by noise and gossip, Amber worked her way to her desk - only to find it occupied.

"Hey there, Jodie," she said, puzzled. "I thought I was meant to be working in here today?"

Jodie had been deeply immersed in a pile of papers, but her blonde head lifted up at the sound of Amber's voice.

"You are?" she said, sounding no less confused than Amber. "That's funny, it didn't say anything on the rota about you working in here today. Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure."

"Then you'd better go talk to Alan," said Jodie, nodding towards the filing cabinet at the other end of the room. "He might have some idea about what's going on. I wouldn't hold your breath, though. I mean, this _is _Alan we're talking about."

"How's the bodysnatching case going?" said Amber, noticing the content of the papers under Jodie's right hand.

"Not so great," said Jodie, heaving a sigh. "Dr Torres and his staff have been really helpful and I think they've told us pretty much everything we could possibly need to know about the victims, but Forensics have combed the place from top to bottom and we still don't have any leads. All the staff have cast-iron alibis and we're still none the wiser as to who might be behind it, or the motives. I mean, it's not like the bodies even had anything in common. Four female and five male, all different ages, different backgrounds, different physical appearances. Even their causes of death are nothing out of the ordinary - heart attack, cancer, drug overdose, old age. Just regular stuff, you know? The kind of stuff people die from every day. It's really weird."

"That is weird," Amber agreed. "Well, I'll let you get back to work."

Jodie nodded and returned to what she'd been doing. Amber, meanwhile, had already switched the focus of her attention to Alan, who was crouching next to the filing cabinet. He appeared to be reorganising the files in the bottom drawer, but there were so many folders and bits of paper stacked around him that it was hard to be sure.

"Hey, Alan," said Amber. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Oh, hey Amber," said Alan, with a little smile. "I'm actually kind of busy right now. Can it wait a few minutes?"

"All I wanted to know was if I'm still meant to be working in here today," said Amber. "Jodie's at the desk I normally use when I'm in here."

Alan's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" he said. "You're back in the west office today. Marvin said the Chief came downstairs this morning and asked for you to be assigned there on desk duty for the next fortnight. Nobody told you?"

Amber silently groaned.

_Great, now the Chief__'__s getting his fat ass involved even further to make sure I stay where I__'__m put. I__'__ll bet he wants me to be right at the centre of all the gossip, just so it__'__ll drive me nuts. Nothing worse than hearing people talking about you behind your back, and he knows it._

"Is something wrong?" said Alan. "You look kind of upset…"

"No, no, everything's fine," lied Amber. "Just tired, that's all."

"Okay then," said Alan, who seemed happy enough with this explanation. "Go finish your coffee and head on over there. They're probably wondering where you are."

"Thanks, Alan. I'll see you later."

Amber let the office doors shut behind her, waited until nobody was looking, then let a quiet obscenity hiss through her teeth.

"Interfering _bastard_," she muttered, knocking back her cooling coffee in one go and tossing away the empty cup. "He couldn't just have stayed up in his office with his creepy, disgusting dead animals, oh no, he has to come down here and make my life even _more_ of a misery…"

She still didn't understand why the Chief seemed so implacably opposed to what the STARS were doing. Even if he didn't believe what they had to say, why was he so determined to stop them from carrying out any kind of investigation, and to keep her from involving herself in it too? If the STARS were lying or merely crazy, then an investigation into Umbrella's activities wouldn't turn up anything unusual and the Chief would be proved right. If they weren't, then -

Then what? Would the Chief actually be pleased to see that they'd uncovered a real conspiracy? On the contrary, it seemed to her as though nothing could delight him less than the thought of Umbrella being responsible for the disaster in the Arklay Mountains. Was it because of the mess it would cause, since Umbrella employed at least half the people in Raccoon City and had poured millions of dollars of investment into the town? Or was there something else going on that she didn't know about?

She made a mental note to ask Chris, Jill and the others more about the Chief's stance on their investigation at some point, then tried to put it out of her mind. Right now, she had more important things to worry about - like Jason, and whether she'd still have a job at the end of the month.

Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the door to the west office; she'd been so preoccupied that she'd hardly noticed her journey back through the corridor and across the lobby. Now suddenly very self-conscious, Amber opened the door, not entirely sure what to expect when she entered the room. A chorus of boos, maybe; perhaps some insults or sarcastic comments about her handling of the previous day's incident. To her relief, however, everyone in the room appeared to be busy, to the extent that her arrival had gone completely unnoticed. Or were they ignoring her?

She looked around. No, things seemed normal enough. Marvin was sitting in the side office, talking to someone on the phone. John Fulham, Elliot Edward and Neil Carlsen were sitting at their desks; all of them, incredibly, seemed to be hard at work. Kevin and David were standing by the lockers, getting ready to go out on patrol. Rita was back, too; her nose was still pink and there was a large box of tissues sitting on her desk, but she was talking to Bob about something and her voice didn't sound quite so thick with cold.

The only person absent from the room was Tim. His desk was still stacked with papers, but there was no jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and Amber wondered aloud where he was.

"Tim?" said Rita, in her soft Southern accent. "No idea. Didn't see his car this morning. Real strange, he's not usually late getting into work. You don't think he's sick too, do you?"

The door swung open and Tim walked in, carrying his jacket and a cup of coffee. Unlike Amber, however, his arrival caused a stir in the room - not least because he was sporting a black eye of truly impressive proportions.

"Tim!" Kevin exclaimed. "Man, what _happened_ to you?"

Tim smiled wanly.

"You know that pretty brunette waitress I was flirting with in Fiorelli's yesterday?" he said. "Name of Marie Chapelle? Well, she gave me her number and told me to call her last night so we could meet up."

"So what happened?" said Kevin. "Did she show up?"

"Yeah, she did," said Tim, grimacing. "Unfortunately, so did her boyfriend."

A collective groan went up from everyone else in the room.

"Oooh…"

"Ouch."

"Bad luck, Tim."

"That's one hell of a black eye you've got there," commented Amber, as Tim took his seat. "You should probably get that looked at."

"Nah, it's okay, it'll go away on its own," said Tim, shrugging. "Hurts like hell, but except for wishing I had Bob's good luck with the ladies instead, there isn't a lot I can do about it. Hey Bob, tell Amber what happened to you after work yesterday."

Bob blushed.

"Well, you know that other waitress? The blonde one, named Jennie?" he said shyly. "She stopped over at J's Bar last night and I guess she must've recognised me from earlier, 'cause she… uh, she asked me for my number. I'm taking her out to lunch on Sunday."

There were several cheers, and a wolf-whistle from across the room.

"Nice one, Bob!"

"Way to go, buddy!"

"Yeah," said Bob, whose cheeks seemed to be going pinker by the second. "I, uh… well, I'd better get back to work now. Stuff to do, you know…"

He returned in a hurry to his pile of paperwork, still looking faintly embarrassed by the attention. Once the blush started to fade, though, a small smile crept back onto his face; it seemed as though not even his amused colleagues' comments could stop him from feeling on top of the world.

As the others settled back down to work, Kevin and David headed out with a cheery "see you later, guys". Amber waved after them, then looked down at the list of things she had to do today. Nearly all of these seemed to involve paperwork. However, she'd scribbled a couple of things on her notepad before leaving yesterday:

_Case updates_

_Recent hospital admissions - gunshot wounds?_

_Evidence?_

_Talk to C and J about B.I. and poss. conflict of interest_

_Talk to Dr. F regarding autopsy_

_Man in grey suit?_

She was still mulling over the last item on the list when Marvin poked his head out of the side office's doorway.

"Hey, Amber," he said. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure thing, Marv," said Amber, putting down her pen. "What's up?"

Marvin looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Can we talk about this in the office? It's more private," he said, glancing round at the other officers in the room, who had all looked up curiously - perhaps wondering why Marvin had emerged from the side office after spending most of the morning on the telephone.

"Of course," said Amber, slightly puzzled by the request, but she got up anyway and followed Marvin into the little side office, shutting the door behind her.

Over in the east office, the side room was normally occupied by Alan Kingsley, who went there purely so that he could sit at the big desk and look important while he drank his coffee and pretended to do the paperwork. However, Alan wasn't the only one who liked being able to sit and write reports in solitude and comfort; the other officers vied constantly for the privilege of using the side office in Officer Kingsley's absence, so much so that his chair hardly had time to get cold.

Here, it was an entirely different story. Unlike their colleagues in the east wing, who saw friendly conversation as a blight on productivity, the cops in the west office liked nothing better than to chat to each other while they did their paperwork and rarely, if ever, worked in silence. Marvin was pretty much the only person who used the side office on a regular basis, although Kevin had been known to come in here sometimes - if only to find somewhere private where he could chew gum, listen to his Walkman and put his feet up on the desk without anybody important noticing.

It was noticeably quieter here in the side office, though you could still hear the conversation outside filter through as an indistinct murmur of sound, punctuated by an occasional loud sneeze from Rita. Still wondering what was going on, Amber sat down on the black leather couch, and looked up curiously at her friend.

Marvin leaned on the desk and closed his eyes.

"Amber, this traffic accident, or whatever it was… this whole situation really isn't pretty," he said, after a very long pause. "I know it's not your fault. Tim and the others said you did your best to try and save that poor girl. But we're going to be up to our eyes in paperwork now, and for some reason the Chief doesn't want you getting in on this. I told him that we're too busy to spare you and we need you on patrol, but he thinks it's best if you just stay here in the office and manage the minor incident reports. Normally I'd go along with that, but - well, there's something that we really need your help with right now."

"What's that?" said Amber warily. Marvin looked and sounded unusually tired; she had the feeling that whatever was about to come her way, it wasn't going to be anything good.

Marvin sighed.

"I've got Bethany Rove's family waiting next door," he said. "Her mother and sister. They've been here for the past half hour. I don't know what they want or why they're here, but they've been asking to see you. The mother in particular was _very_ insistent."

Amber's sinking heart got about halfway down her chest before it collided with the rising panic coming from the other direction. Both varieties of dread merged to form a tight ball of terror somewhere just underneath her sternum, which showed no immediate signs of wanting to budge.

_Oh no,_ she thought. _No, please, not now - not on top of everything else__…_

"Are you sure it was me they wanted to see?" she said weakly, hoping that there was some mistake. Just when the Chief and everyone else in the city was lining up to blame this on her, now she had grieving relatives to contend with too - grieving relatives who would undoubtedly be furious about what had happened to Bethany.

"Oh yes," said Marvin, nodding. "They both asked for you personally. Could you go over there and see what they want?"

"All right," said Amber unhappily. This was the last thing she needed, but there seemed to be no way of avoiding her fate. "I don't know how much good it'll do, but I'll go next door and talk to them."

"Thanks, Amber," said Marvin, who was already looking relieved at the prospect of not having to deal with this particular problem any more. "I'm really glad you can spare a few minutes. And don't worry about the Chief - he's got a meeting scheduled with the Mayor for most of the morning, so I don't think we'll be having any trouble from him."

Still quietly rueing her decision to come into work today, Amber nodded and got up from the couch. Before she opened the door, she paused, with her hand still on the doorknob.

"Marvin?" she said, turning back to look at her friend. "About Bethany's family... did they seem - you know, angry? About what happened yesterday?"

Marvin looked surprised.

"Angry? No, I wouldn't say Mrs Rove was _angry_," he said. "Upset, sure, but not angry. I don't think she's stopped crying since she got in."

"How about the daughter? How is she taking the news?"

"Hard to say," said Marvin, shrugging. "She's been pretty quiet. Hardly said a word."

_Damn,_ thought Amber. _Hysterical mom and a brooding sister. No wonder Marvin__'__s so happy about not having to handle this one. I really should have stayed in bed this morning__…_

"Okay," she said to Marvin. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'll do what I can."

She opened the door and left the side office. If she'd been alone in the room, she would probably have groaned out loud and buried her head in her hands; as it was, she could only wince at the thought of what was about to come.

She went out through the door of the west office, waved a quick hello to Bernice at the main desk as she hurried along the foyer, then made her way to the double doors that led through to the waiting room, still wondering what the hell she was going to say to Bethany's family - not that there were any words in the world that could possibly make a difference. No matter what she said, it couldn't change the fact that they'd lost a much-loved daughter and sister yesterday, and that she, Amber, was partly to blame for the tragedy.

She breathed in deeply, then opened the doors and went inside…


	13. Postmortem

**13: Postmortem**

It was half an hour later, and now Amber found herself sitting outside the police station, on the steps of the underpass.

To say that things hadn't gone quite as she'd expected would have been an understatement of truly epic proportions. The truth was that she hadn't seen this coming, not at all…

Exactly thirty minutes ago she had walked into the waiting room, already cringing, to be met with the sight of two women sitting quietly on the bench and staring at the floor. After a moment, the first woman had looked up and said:

"You're Officer Bernstein?"

"Yes ma'am," Amber had replied, trying to swallow her apprehension. "You - you wanted to see me?"

There had been no indignant howl of grief, no attempted assault, or any of the other things that Amber had expected. Instead, the woman had just sighed quietly and pocketed her handkerchief. She'd been well-groomed and well-dressed, in a dark suit and high heels, and although she had to be well on into her forties, she'd looked good for her age; noticing a sleek black briefcase tucked neatly under the bench, Amber realised that she could probably afford to.

"Jennifer Rove," she said, standing up and holding out her hand. "I'm Bethany's mother."

Feeling more lost than she'd ever felt in her life, Amber had reached out gratefully for the lifeline of etiquette. As she shook the woman's hand, she'd noticed well-manicured nails, a pair of diamond rings and an expensive watch - yes, Jennifer Rove was a businesswoman all right, and a successful one at that.

"This is my daughter, Alison," Mrs Rove had added, gesturing to the younger woman, who promptly looked up and nodded. Amber had imagined a young child, but Alison Rove had been in her late teens; tall, slender and dark-eyed, with a pale complexion and long dark hair that reached almost to her waist. Like her mother, she'd worn a suit, but she hadn't looked particularly at home in it.

Amber had murmured something about it being nice to meet them both, and that she was sorry that it had been in such unfortunate circumstances.

"Thank you for coming to see us, Officer Bernstein," Mrs Rove had said, very gravely. "We know how busy you must be right now, after the - the accident…"

"It wasn't an accident," muttered Alison, from the bench.

"Alison - "

"It _wasn__'__t _an accident," the girl had insisted stubbornly, still looking at the floor. "You'd have to be _stupid _to believe a pile of garbage like that."

Jennifer Rove shot her daughter a warning glance, then reached again for her handkerchief.

"Anyway," she'd said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes, "we came here to say thank you."

It had been all Amber could do to stop her mouth from dropping open in surprise.

"To - to thank us?" she'd stammered. "Well, that's - that's very kind of you, Mrs Rove, but my colleagues were just doing their jobs as best they knew how. I'll pass on your thanks to them, though, and - "

Shaking her head gently, Mrs Rove had cut her off.

"No, Officer Bernstein," she'd said. "I don't think you understand. We came here to thank _you_."

"Thank me?" said Amber, now totally at sea. "Why? Mrs Rove, if your daughter hadn't come to meet me yesterday, then - "

There had been no way to finish that sentence safely, so she'd left it to trail in the air. Mrs Rove seemed to have picked up on her thoughts, though, because she'd replied:

"We don't blame you at all for what happened to Bethany. You weren't to know what was going to happen yesterday. I know that you did all that you could to help her when she was dying - "

Her voice had faltered a little on the last word, but she'd made a conscious effort to keep herself together and finished:

"And even though you couldn't save her, you stayed with her until the end. You made sure my daughter didn't die alone and scared, and that means a lot to me and my family. An awful lot."

Amber had watched a tear roll down the woman's face, leaving in its wake a small smudge of mascara. She hadn't known what to say in reply; she felt wretched enough as it was, receiving praise from a bereaved woman who didn't seem to understand the part that she'd played in bringing about her beloved daughter's death. As for Alison Rove, the girl had just carried on looking sullenly down at the floor. Whether she had wanted to speak but couldn't find the words, or had simply preferred to remain silent, it was difficult to say.

"And you… the only one who took her seriously - and her photos, you understood everything, _everything,_" said Jennifer Rove tearfully, mopping up the mess of tears and smudged eye makeup from her face. She was crying hard, and not making much sense. Amber would have given anything for Marvin's helping hand at that point, or at least some of his skill with diplomacy; even in the most awkward situations, he always seemed to know what to say.

As if in response to Amber's silent prayers, Alison Rove had raised her head. Her dark eyes, which had been narrowed in suspicion, gradually changed as they met Amber's, and the air of silent resentment that she'd been harbouring over the past few minutes seemed to leave her.

"What my mom's trying to say is that Bethany was having a few problems," she interrupted. "She took a trip up to Springvale recently, and whatever she saw up there seemed to grab her attention, because she said she took a whole bunch of pictures that she was sure would sell. Except then she got a couple of weird phone calls, warning her not to try and get the photos published. She even said she thought some guys had started following her home from work. In the end she got so spooked that she told me she was just going to file them away, and carry on with her regular work instead."

"Regular work?"

"Photo shoots, journalistic assignments, a couple of projects with her artist friends," Alison had explained, as her mother wept silently in the background. "She went back to her usual stuff and she didn't have any more problems - then one night she said she took some photos of zombies outside her apartment. She brought them here because she heard that you guys were requesting information about the attacks, but she came back saying nobody believed her, and the officers on duty had accused her of bringing them a bunch of fake photos just to get some attention…"

Alison had glared at her suddenly.

"Officer Bernstein, my sister may have been kind of a ditz, but she _wasn__'__t _a liar," she said. "She wouldn't have made things up to get attention, or wasted police time by giving them fake leads to follow. She wasn't that kind of person."

"The fact that you thought her photos were worth a closer look meant a lot to Bethany," Jennifer had interrupted, from the corner. She was still wiping her eyes furiously. "You were the only person here to take her seriously, and I think it really made a difference to her… knowing she wasn't alone in thinking that something strange was going on. I know things didn't turn out the way they should have, but all the same, we wanted to thank you for believing her. For trying to help."

Jennifer went to pick up her suitcase from underneath the bench, then turned towards the door, twisting her damp, grey-streaked handkerchief between the fingers of her free hand.

"You're a good lady, Officer Bernstein," she said, stopping just shy of the door and turning around to look at Amber. "God bless you."

Taking her mother's cue to leave, Alison had risen to her feet and brushed some stray specks of dust from her skirt. She followed her mother to the door and opened it, but before they went through, Jennifer had one last question:

"Officer Bernstein? I heard someone saying earlier that my daughter's death wasn't an accident. They said one of the witnesses had told another officer that she'd jumped out in front of the trolley, and that she did it on purpose. I mean, I - I don't really know what happened, because I wasn't there… but… Bethany didn't really kill herself, did she?"

The beseeching look in the woman's eyes had been almost more than Amber could bear. Now, more than ever, she'd hated Umbrella for what they'd done. They'd torn innocent lives apart, and why? For what reasons other than malice and greed?

"No, Mrs Rove. She didn't kill herself," Amber said, clinging to the one certainty that seemed to be left in her life. "She never even saw the trolley coming."

Mother and daughter had both stared at Amber, for a moment that seemed to stretch into hours.

"Then it was just an accident?" said Jennifer, a little hoarsely.

Amber had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but though she didn't want to cause any more trouble for herself, she was damned if she was going to stand here in front of Bethany's family and tell them a pack of lies.

"The incident is officially being treated as an accident by my colleagues," she said flatly.

Alison raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, really," she'd said, completely deadpan. "And how about unofficially?"

Amber had almost smiled.

_Full marks for observation, Miss Rove. I had a feeling you'd pick up on that one. _

"Unofficially, Miss Rove," she'd said, proceeding with extreme caution, "I have reason to believe that other factors were involved, and that these factors may have contributed to your sister's death, either directly or indirectly."

"Other factors?" Jennifer had said, blinking. "What - what do you mean, other factors?"

"Were you aware of the burglary that took place at Bethany's apartment that day, either shortly before or shortly after her death?" said Amber, watching their expressions closely for any hint of a reaction. "I'm told that some items were taken from her apartment - photos, I think."

Bethany's mother had looked stunned by this news, which didn't surprise Amber. Alison, on the other hand, was already beginning to frown.

"Photos, you said?" she said suspiciously. "Do you know which ones?"

"Miss Rove, do you know anything about this incident?" said Amber, pouncing on the opportunity to gather more information about what Bethany might have seen in Springvale. If she knew what they depicted, then perhaps she could find out where those photographs might be now…

"Only what you've just told me," Alison said, shaking her head, and Amber had to try hard not to let her disappointment show. "But I have a feeling I know which ones were taken. Were they from an album marked Springvale, or something like that?"

Even as Amber nodded, she saw the girl's expression hardening.

"Then I think you'd better start looking for those other factors, Officer Bernstein," said Alison grimly. "Because Mom and I saw the papers and read all about the "officer-involved shooting", and we know that the police are looking for three gunmen who fled the scene. You were the officer involved - you saw what happened that day, and I _know_ you don't seriously believe that what happened to Bethany was an accident, especially now these photos have gone missing. We just want to know what you're going to do about it."

It was hard to say now what had been worse - the profound sorrow in the mother's eyes, or the sound of the sister's voice shaking as she tried to suppress her rage. All Jennifer had seemed to want was comfort and closure, but Alison… she hadn't wanted those things. She'd wanted justice, vengeance, _blood_ in return for her sister's death, and Amber didn't blame her. Had she been in Alison's place, she would probably have demanded exactly the same.

"Officially, Miss Rove," said Amber, heaving a sigh, "I won't be taking any action regarding this incident. It's an accident and it's not even my case. It's being investigated by my colleagues, and there's very little I can do to act on your behalf without hampering their efforts. We're already anticipating a verdict of accidental death."

She'd watched this sink in slowly, seen the look of outrage stealing over Alison Rove's face, and then finished:

"_Unofficially_, I'm going to be conducting my own investigation into this incident. If this was an accident, then I'll eat my badge. If those photos are missing, then Bethany's not dead because she didn't look both ways before crossing the street. I think someone wanted to make this look like an accident - and I'm going to find out who that someone was. Whoever they are, I'm not going to let them get away with this."

There should have been one final, unexpected outburst from the girl. Tears, anger, some kind of outward display of grief - or even a tiny smile of satisfaction at the knowledge that justice was going to be done at last. Yet again, though, reality and the unwritten conventions of narrative imperative defied each other. Alison Rove stood, stared… then nodded.

"All right," she'd said quietly. "Do what you have to do, Officer Bernstein. Just get those sons of bitches."

Those had been the girl's parting words, and they remained as loud in Amber's thoughts now as they had been in her ears an hour ago.

_Do what you have to do… just get those sons of bitches._

For a while, Amber sat and watched a pill-bug crawling along the step beside her. It was making its way slowly along the damp concrete; every now and then it would run into an obstacle and flip over, its tiny legs doing a panicky little dance in the air as it struggled to right itself, before getting back up and carrying on its journey as though nothing had happened.

By the time it reached the brick wall and began a vertical climb towards the ceiling, Amber felt strangely encouraged by the little creature's efforts. Until now, she'd never felt so powerless or bereft of hope, but now she understood her situation completely.

Countless people were already baying for her blood and the Chief was still trying to stop her from getting her job done, for reasons best known to himself. There seemed to be more obstacles in her way than she could count, and though she'd been flipped over a few times before, this time her legs were _really_ wiggling in the air. Nevertheless, she had to keep trying to right herself, so she could carry on doing what had to be done. If she gave up now, she'd be stranded on her back forever - and if she couldn't get up again, then the people who were counting on her to do her job were all as good as dead.

"No," she said to herself, hearing her own voice whispering back at her in the tunnel. "No, I'm not giving up. Screw Umbrella and screw the Chief. I've got a job to do, and if they don't like it, then screw them twice over, because I'm going to make _somebody_ pay for this…!"

She got up from the steps and went back up into the courtyard. The sun was beating down fiercely on the town again today, and although it was still early, she could already feel her shirt sticking to her arms and back. She went back inside, stood in the cool darkness of the lobby to collect her thoughts, then proceeded to her next destination.

xxxxxxxxxx

Behind the wooden partitions at the back of the east office was a small corridor with two doors. One door led outside to a yard area, paved with greenish gravel and currently scattered with building materials; outside, a couple of workmen were adding some new supports for the rickety metal fire escape leading up to the next floor. Three more workmen were standing next to them, removing the windows from the adjoining wall and preparing to brick them up.

It seemed a shame to Amber, who didn't think that removing this source of direct sunlight would do the people passing through here any good, but she had to admit that they had a point. Winter would be rolling around before too long, and the windows in that particular wall had never been much good at keeping the elements at bay.

_How is the Chief getting the money to do this? I thought he said we couldn__'__t fix the library__'__s second floor yet because there wasn__'__t any money in the maintenance budget for repairs__…_ _so why fill in the windows?_

"Hey, officer, you might wanna move," called out a workman. "Lot of glass gonna be movin' through here once we get these windows out - we don't want any accidents to happen, know what I'm sayin'?"

Amber turned immediately to glare at the workman, then realised that he had meant no harm by his statement and smiled instead.

"Sorry, boys, I won't get in your way any more. Keep up the good work."

She turned and went through the other door, leaving the sounds of construction work behind her.

Amber found herself now in another corridor - one which probably needed the workmen's attention far more than the one she'd just left. It was a damp, musty-smelling place with cold stone tiles on the floor and windows that seemed to drip with condensation even on the driest day. The patterned wallpaper was a horrible colour that wasn't quite yellow and wasn't quite green, and it smelled of age and must; though it wasn't yet peeling from the walls, it seemed about ready to do so.

Amber walked down the hallway, watching dust motes dance in the sunlight, and passed a door in an alcove on the left. This led to the two rooms where the night janitor usually stayed, along with whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the night watch. She'd stayed in the night watchmen's quarters once before, about a year ago, and had vowed never to repeat the experience.

Right at the end of this corridor was a set of concrete steps. These led down into the basement - apart from the Chief's office, this was the part of the precinct that Amber hated most. The cold, echoing concrete hallways were full of shadows and the noises down there gave her the creeps. Still, she had business down here. Holding her breath, she steeled herself and descended.

Her footfalls sounded like the slam of falling tombstones, one after the other. Trying to keep this macabre thought out of her head, she hurried down the steps and into the police station's dingy grey basement halls.

The artificial lighting didn't make the basement level any less spooky. If anything, the harsh white glare seemed to intensify the darkness of the shadows, and there was always one light that flickered, on and off, as though some unseen person was toying with the switch…

Something warm and furry collided with her legs as she turned the corner, and Amber let out an involuntary shriek that rebounded through the basement.

"Whoa there," someone chuckled, as Amber pressed her trembling hand to her heart to steady its pace. "You nearly frightened me to death, Miss Amber. Mind you, you look like you had a right pretty fright yourself. Boris here didn't scare you, did he?"

Swallowing her fright, Amber looked down at a police Alsatian. It was wagging its tail and seemed overjoyed to see her. She looked up again, and saw a solidly-built man smiling down at her.

"Oh, it's you," she said, breathing out. "Jeez, Finn, don't do that to me again. You know how much this place creeps me out. The last thing I need is people jumping at me from behind corners."

Officer Finley Morris, the RPD's chief dog handler, just smiled again and knelt down next to the dog.

"Sorry about that, Miss Amber, I didn't mean to alarm you there. I was just taking Boris back to the kennels," he explained, patting the dog's head. "Been doing some training with him out in the alley there. He's learning to fetch pretty good now. I reckon he'll make a fine police dog when I'm done with him."

Boris padded up to Amber and licked her hand affectionately.

"You don't think he's too friendly for police work, do you?" said Amber, ruffling the dog's fur and receiving another lick in return.

"Nah," said Finn, and he grinned. "He may look like man's best friend to anyone in a cop's uniform, but he can be a perp's worst nightmare too. All I've got to do is say the word. You wouldn't want to mess with him if you were on the wrong side of the law, believe me."

He patted the dog's head again, then straightened up.

"Well, Boris, let's get back. Almost time for lunch - you like lunch, dontcha boy? Yeah, you like lunchtime… anyway, you take care now, Miss Amber," he added, glancing back at her.

"You too, Finn," said Amber, as the dog handler and his faithful companion passed her by and made their way along the corridor.

Laughter drew her attention back to her destination. Amber followed the sound, wondering what anyone had to laugh about down here, then found herself almost bowled over by a couple of young men from the Forensics team, running out of the morgue. They were both howling with laughter, and tried in vain to clutch their sides as they ran.

The brown hospital-style doors swung back, and out came a bespectacled man in a white lab coat. Red-faced with anger, he was shaking his fist at the men; in his other hand was a prosthetic leg, apparently grabbed in haste. To Amber's relief, it didn't appear to be his own.

"This is a mortuary, damn it, not a recreation room!" he yelled after the two miscreants. "Find somewhere else to play around! And don't think I don't know about the whole "hand puppet" incident either! How many times do I have to tell you morons? Prosthetic limbs are _not_ toys!"

His tirade was answered by another whoop of mocking laughter, now distant in the tunnels. He glared after them, and was about to sweep back into the room when he spotted Amber.

"Oh, hi there," he said, and he seemed to brighten a little at the sight of her. "Nice to see you, Lieutenant. You're the first welcome visitor I've had down here in days. Come on in."

He turned back towards the morgue; however, he stopped just short of the doors, and gave an exasperated sigh. Amber immediately saw why. On their way out, it seemed, the pranksters had stuck up an A4 sheet bearing the inspiring motto:

"_RPD Morgue - Where Your Loss Is Our Gain__"_

Amber had to turn her grin into a tactful cough as the mortician tore off the note and scrunched it up into a ball, muttering something to himself about "not sending out the right signals".

She followed him in through the doors, and tried not to gag as the smell hit her. Although the morgue was kept clean, with disinfectant applied frequently and liberally to every available surface, there were some unpleasant-looking stains on the floor tiles, and there seemed to be no way to get rid of the stench of violent death that clung to this place.

"Don't worry, you get used to it after a while," commented the mortician, picking up a chart and flicking through some notes. "Anyway, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?"

Amber swallowed.

"I've come to view one of the bodies you've got in storage, Dr Fenton," she said, wishing that her voice had come out sounding confident and unafraid, rather than emerging from her lips as a timid whisper.

"I see," said Dr Fenton, and he set the chart aside again. "Well, I'm sorry to say that I have quite a few people keeping me company down here at present… which one did you have in mind?"

"Bethany Rove," said Amber quietly. "They - they brought her in yesterday."

"Oh, the road casualty," said Dr Fenton, nodding. "Yes, of course. She's in unit number five. I'll bring her out for you now."

Amber watched in silence as the mortician snapped on a fresh pair of latex gloves, then opened up one of the doors in the body storage unit. She felt her stomach twist unpleasantly as Dr Fenton pulled out the tray, quite unconcernedly, and said:

"Here she is. Miss Bethany Rove, Caucasian female, aged twenty-two. Severe internal injuries, fractured skull, right arm severed just above the elbow… pretty much every major bone broken. Primary causes of death appear to have been internal bleeding and compression of the internal organs, though it's hard to say which one got her first. Judging from what happened to her, death _should _have been pretty much instantaneous, so I'm kind of surprised she survived as long as she did."

He wandered over to the other side of the room, leaving Amber to steel her nerves and face up to what had to be done.

She didn't want to look. Nothing on earth could possibly have appealed less, just half an hour after speaking to her family, than seeing the young woman's body for a second time, especially in the cold, sterile light of this place. But here was the proof she needed, the proof that would vindicate her actions and confirm her story…

Breathing slowly, to try and control the nausea building in the pit of her stomach, Amber stepped forward and stood beside the mortician - and looked down.

Now that the blood had been washed away and her flesh had cooled, seeing the girl dead wasn't quite such a horrifying spectacle. Her skin was pale, waxy and - Amber flinched a little - cold to the touch, and those mortal wounds looked oddly clinical now that they were no longer shrouded in gore.

She didn't look real. In fact, it was hard to look at the girl and force herself to remember that Bethany Rove had ever been alive at all. Before long, the vivacious young woman would be just another body, another life that had ended too soon, another story already forgotten by the people who'd only ever read her name in the newspapers. In a few days' time, she would be in the ground, or reduced to ashes and scattered to the wind, and then she would be gone for good.

_Until then, she can help me find the bastards who did this to her. If they shot her in the arm, then the bullet wound will still be there. Not sure about the bullet, Forensics might already have removed it, but you can't get rid of a bullet wound too easily. That's proof enough for me._

But when Amber looked down again, she saw that something was very, horribly wrong.

"Where is it?" she said aloud.

Dr Fenton looked up from his notes.

"Where's what?" he said.

"Bethany's arm," said Amber. "It was severed in the crash. Where is it?"

"What do you mean, where is it? It's right there, along with the rest of the cadaver," said Dr Fenton, starting to frown again. He put down the papers that he had been sorting through, and walked over to the place where the young woman's mortal remains now lay, in order to illustrate his point. "See, like I told you, it's…"

His expression changed abruptly when he saw what Amber meant. Bethany's right arm was not only severed but now missing entirely.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, that can't be right. It was there when I first examined the body last night and it was still there when I signed off at eleven. I locked up the morgue when I left, and the night watchman always tells me if someone requested the spare key overnight. Sure, we've had a few people come through here today, but I've been here all morning, so nobody could have… are you _sure _it's not there?"

"Positive," said Amber, swallowing.

"Perhaps it's just been placed in the wrong compartment," said Dr Fenton urgently. "Help me look, will you?"

Together they searched through each of the body storage unit's compartments, opening doors and pulling out each tray in turn, looking for Bethany Rove's missing arm. However, even the last of the containers yielded no results.

"I don't understand," said Dr Fenton, whose face was growing steadily paler with worry. "It was right where I left it, next to the body! What could have happened to it? It can't have left the room, unless - "

Colour flooded into the mortician's grey face again as a possibility occurred to him. He pulled a cellphone from the pocket of his lab coat, and dialled a number with one shaking finger. Pressing it to his ear, he waited for a crackling, half-heard voice to respond, then yelled:

"Ruth, I want you and everyone else in your department down here _right now_! No, don't even ask why - just get down here! This is serious!"

Within moments, the awkward silence that followed this exchange was broken by the arrival of Ruth Shackleton and her entourage. True to her agreement, she'd brought the entire Forensics department along with her.

The new arrivals were crowding in through the doors, some looking puzzled, others curious - why were they here? Two of them looked particularly uneasy, and Amber could see why; they were the pair of practical jokers that had run laughingly from the morgue just a few minutes ago.

_Well, it certainly didn't take long for their consciences to catch them up - they're not laughing now they think they're in trouble. But this isn't one of their pranks. Someone else did this…_

Dr Fenton seemed to think otherwise.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" he was bawling at the two young technicians. "Do you think it's _funny_, pulling a stunt like this? I know neither of you have any respect for the dead, but you could at least show a little consideration for the living and not make our jobs any harder than they already are! This isn't just sick and grossly inappropriate, it's an appalling breach of protocol, and a potential public health hazard! Now what have you done with it?"

"Taylor, what the hell are you talking about?" Ruth demanded to know, as the two young men cowered in the face of the mortician's wrath. "What's going on?"

"Someone's taken the severed arm from the body in unit number five!" snarled Dr Fenton. "I caught these two clowning around earlier with a prosthetic limb from one of the other bodies - I'm pretty sure they have something to do with this! If they aren't involved somehow, then I'll eat my med school diploma!"

"Hey, it wasn't us," said the second man shakily.

"Yeah, we never touched her," agreed the first. "Never even went near her."

Ruth's sharp blue eyes were narrowing, and her mouth pursed into a disapproving frown. She clearly wasn't pleased by what she'd just heard.

"You two sure you had nothing to do with this?" she said to them.

The young men both nodded straight away.

"Sure you're sure?" she persisted. "Don't know _anything _about this? If you do, then you'd better say so right now, because if I find out you've been lying to me, then you'll be keeping that poor girl company by this time tomorrow!"

"Hey, we didn't do it, okay?" burst out the second guy. "The fake leg thing was a stupid joke, we were just playing around, but stealing actual body parts from the morgue? No way…"

"Look, we don't know who did this, but whoever it was, I _swear_ we had nothing to do with it," the first guy added hastily. "Right, buddy?"

"Right," the other agreed.

Ruth glared at them for a moment, then went over to Dr Fenton and spoke briefly to him. Amber didn't quite catch what Ruth said to him, but it seemed to placate the mortician just enough to let his anger drain away.

This done, Ruth turned around to face her audience of underlings.

"If you two didn't do it, fine. I'll accept that as a possibility, however remote," she said shortly. "But that doesn't change the fact that we've still got a problem. We have one missing arm from a corpse, one mortician in big trouble, and one grieving family about to hit the roof when they find out what's happened. Look, I don't care who did it, all right? I just want to know where this arm is, so we can put it back where it belongs. Any takers?"

There was a stir in the room as the men and women of the Forensics department looked at each other, open-mouthed in astonishment, then back at their stern-faced boss. Some of them shook their heads, to show that this was all news to them, but the rest just stared.

"Anybody? Missing arm? Hands up if you know anything, guys. Needn't be your own hand. The missing one'll do me just fine. In fact, if there are any missing arms in the audience, do me a big favour and raise them for me right now, would you?"

There were still, apparently, no takers.

"No? Nothing? Nobody?"

Nothing, nobody made a move.

"In that case," said Ruth briskly, pulling on a pair of gloves, "we've got a crime scene on our hands."

"No kidding," muttered Amber, from the corner of the room.

"Come on, people, let's get to work," called Ruth, ignoring this. "Derek, go fetch me some tape, we need to cordon this place off. Corey, I need you over here, please. Everyone else, you know what to do… well, except you, Jayden, but you're on work experience and you only make the coffee anyway."

Jayden, a sulky-looking teenager from Green Street High School in Fairview, allowed his permanent scowl to deepen at this. He was the third work experience kid to join the precinct this summer - normally two was the maximum, but he was Derek's nephew and quiet, unassuming Derek could be surprisingly insistent when he wanted to be.

"Hey, don't you look at me like that," said Ruth, unimpressed. "Do me a favour, kid, go back upstairs with Milo and Tess and… oh, I don't know. Do whatever. Just look busy, okay?"

Jayden shrugged and followed the two CSIs out of the room, dragging his feet along the floor.

As the Forensics team got to work, turning the morgue's eerie silence into a buzz of nervous activity, Amber went up to Ruth and tapped her on the shoulder.

"What is it now?" said Ruth curtly, turning round, then looked up. Since her eyes were several inches below Amber's, she had to look up again, then keep looking up until she eventually made eye contact.

"Oh, it's you, Lieutenant," she said at last. "What are you doing down here?"

"Ruth, there's something I need to know about Bethany," said Amber. "You guys examined her body yesterday with Dr Fenton, right?"

"Sure did," said Ruth. "I - Perry, _what_ are you doing?"

This interruption was directed at one of the more recent additions to the Forensics team, who was standing over Bethany's body and running what appeared to be a make-up brush across the dead woman's hand.

"What?" said the young man, nonplussed. "What are you looking at?"

"What in the red depths of hell are you doing?" Ruth exclaimed.

"Dusting for fingerprints," Perry replied.

"Dusting for - dusting for _fingerprints_?" Ruth repeated.

"Of course," said Perry, frowning. "I thought we were meant to do that?"

Ruth stared at him for a second, then she marched up, snatched the brush from his hand and propelled him towards the doors.

"Get out of my crime scene, you idiot!" she bellowed, pushing the startled Perry out into the corridor with a well-aimed kick to the man's rear. He toppled forwards, landed on the floor with a yelp, and looked up again just in time to see the doors swing closed.

"Trainees," said Ruth, rolling her eyes and handing the fingerprint brush to a passing colleague. "Hah! They do one course in community college and a two-week placement in someone else's crime lab, and they think they're God's gift to forensic science. Anyway, where were we?"

"You examined Bethany," prompted Amber.

"Uh-huh," said Ruth, who was already looking around for further signs of potential idiocy from her workers.

"So did you see anything unusual about her arm? The one that was missing?" Amber continued.

"Nice big bullet hole, to begin with," said Ruth. "Unfortunately, no bullet."

This wasn't welcome news. Amber felt as though she'd just been slapped in the face by it.

"Wh-what do you mean, no bullet?" she said.

"What, you mean _everyone _took stupid pills this morning?" said Ruth incredulously. "I mean there wasn't any bullet, Amber. And no, I _don__'__t _have any idea why. Taylor and I both checked her over about ten minutes after she was brought down here, and there was no sign of it."

"Someone must have removed it," said Amber, mostly to herself. "To make sure you wouldn't find it. But then they remembered there'd still be a wound to analyse, so they took the whole arm to make sure…"

She jumped as Ruth grabbed her suddenly by the elbow.

"Hey, Amber, help me out here," said the little CSI. "Do you know anything about this? About where this missing arm might be?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," said Amber regretfully, and saw Ruth's face fall. "But Ruth, if this has gone missing, then what about the other bullets you found at the scene? You still have those, and they weren't all mine, right? I mean, you checked my gun and everything…"

Ruth nodded.

"Yeah, we've accounted for all your rounds except two, and they'll still be in those gunmen, wherever they are now. Those guys are going to be hard to track down, though. We've called all the hospitals and clinics in town and nobody's come in with gunshot wounds for days, even in Masefield Park, which has to be some kind of miracle. They must have access to medical treatment of some kind, but who, what and where, I have no idea."

"What about the other bullets you found?" persisted Amber. "Like the one that you took out of the side of that car?"

"Ah, now you're in luck," said Ruth, brightening. "We've got those right here, safe and sound. Got an expert working on them, too. New gunsmith just starting in the armoury, we got him to come down and have a look. Have you met Sean?"

Amber suddenly found herself being introduced to a smiling young man. He was about her height, well-built, with green eyes and ash-blond hair.

_Not bad-looking, either,_ she began to think and, remembering Joseph's reproachful ghost, stopped herself just in time.

The young man smiled.

"Sean Hayter," he said, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, Officer…?"

"Amber Bernstein," said Amber, shaking the man's hand in a rather distracted way. She felt as though her thoughts had been put in a spin dryer - they seemed to be all over the place right now, a whirl of half-formed theories and ideas trying to take shape but getting constantly in each other's way.

"Those bullets Ruth and Derek showed me were pretty interesting," said Sean conversationally. "Haven't seen any like that for a while. Looked like they came from something custom-made. I'm going to stop by Kendo's later, have a word with Robert and Joe, maybe see what they think. You didn't see the guys' faces, right?"

Amber shook her head, but this only seemed to make her thoughts spin faster.

"That's too bad," said Sean regretfully. "Still, we might be able to trace the weapons and find out who the owners are - unless they're stolen, of course. That could make things complicated."

Nodding didn't seem to make things any better. Amber suppressed the urge to yell and run from the room, so overwhelmed was she by these latest developments - what she wanted most of all was to go back upstairs, turf Marvin out of the side office for a while and straighten out everything in her head.

_I can figure this one out, I know I can… I just need five minutes and a piece of paper so I can think straight!_

"So - " began Ruth, but she was interrupted once again, this time by her cellphone. "Excuse me, guys, I have to take this. Hello?"

The voice at the other end of the line was shooting out rapid, high-pitched sentences, almost too fast to follow. Ruth's impatience seemed to be growing with every incoherent phrase uttered.

"Stop babbling!" she ordered, after a moment or two. "What's the problem?"

This time, Amber caught what was said.

"_Ruth__… __those bullets we took from the accident scene yesterday! They__'__re gone!__"_

Ruth's expression seemed to freeze solid.

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" she said, and for the first time ever, Amber heard a note of anxiety in the woman's voice. "How can they have gone? We locked up the lab before we came down here, there's no _way_ anyone could possibly have had access to any of our equipment, or our evidence lockers… Tess, are you sure you checked everywhere?"

"_Yes!__"_ said the panicky voice. "_They were on Derek__'__s desk when we left, I saw them as I went past, and now they__'__re missing! They__'__re gone, Ruth! All the ballistics reports too! It__'__s all gone!__"_

Ruth looked as though she was about to pitch backwards in a faint, but she managed to pull herself together.

"I'll be right up," she promised. "Just stay there."

She hung up, then turned back to Amber and Sean.

"I have to go," she said quickly. "Sean, will you come with me? I think I might need your help on this one. Go fetch Derek, tell him I need to come too. Quentin? You're in charge here, okay? Let me know if you find anything. If anyone needs me, I'll be upstairs having a heart attack…"

That left Amber, watching the rest of the Forensics department at work. One member of the team that drew her particular attention was Corey, solemnly positioning his camera at just the right angle so that he could take a picture of Bethany's body, sans her right arm. It was hard at first to decide whether this was an ironic end to the girl's career, or the ultimate tribute to her talents.

_From artist to subject… that's one hell of a switch._

After some deliberation, Amber decided that Bethany would probably have appreciated being photographed in death by someone like Corey. It was a shame that the two had never met. Corey and Bethany would probably have been good friends, if only they'd had the chance to meet in more fortunate circumstances.

Which brought her right back to where she'd started…

She'd lost her evidence. The bullet in Bethany's arm had gone, and so had the bullet wound. Now the rest of the gunmen's bullets had disappeared too, along with all the corresponding paperwork.

_How convenient._ _Whoever did this must really want me to stay in trouble. Without any evidence to back up my story, I__'__m finished, and they know it. Why else would anyone want those bullets to disappear? It can__'__t be Umbrella this time. I__'__m pretty sure that a civilian wouldn__'__t be able to walk straight into the Forensics lab and take whatever they wanted. Not with the doors locked and the alarm system activated. No, it was someone who knows this place pretty well. Must have been an inside job, but who? Who around here has any connection with Umbrella, apart from Captain Wesker, who__'__s dead anyway?_

She thought suddenly of the Umbrella businessmen waiting patiently outside the Chief's office. All at once, the swirling thoughts came to a stop and began to piece themselves together, bit by methodical bit.

The Chief. He hadn't been at all happy about the results of the STARS investigation - in fact, he seemed positively eager to sweep it under the carpet, not to mention discredit the entire STARS team along the way. His refusal to acknowledge that anything was wrong, those Umbrella employees waiting to speak to him, the threats he'd made to her about the consequences of associating with STARS and getting involved with the investigations he wanted her to stay away from… and he wanted her fired, didn't he? She wouldn't stop asking inconvenient questions and kept resisting his advances, so she had to face a disciplinary hearing, a public inquiry, and any number of things that could finish her career for good.

And where _had_ the money for that construction work come from, when there wasn't meant to be any more money left in the budget? Could it possibly be anything to do with the contents of those Umbrella employees' smart black briefcases…?

The doors flew open, and Amber had to leap out of the way in order to avoid the incoming gurney. It sent three CSIs scurrying for cover, and a yowl indicated that a fourth had moved a little too late to avoid having his fingers stepped on.

"Hey, this is a crime scene!" yelled someone, as the three people who'd brought the gurney in swung it round to face Dr Fenton. They ignored this; so did Dr Fenton, who seemed positively glad of the distraction.

"Hey, Doc, we just got this one dropped off to us by the hospital," said one of the officers, wiping his brow. "They can't figure it out at all. They want to know what you and the CSIs make of him."

"Any idea who he is?" said Dr Fenton, hurrying over to look at the black body bag.

"Don't know," said the second - Jill, Amber noticed, and she wondered how her friend had ended up getting involved in this, when she was meant to be up in the STARS office.

"Yeah, we were outside having a smoke and suddenly this ambulance pulls up," explained the third man, and now Amber realised it was Chris. "They said they'd been asked to hand this one over to you. Don't know if you got the phone call."

Dr Fenton shook his head.

"Doesn't matter," said the first officer. He was a youngish man with brown hair whose face Amber vaguely recognised from the east office. "Well guys, let's get him up on the slab, so we can take a look."

"Need any help?" Amber found herself offering, and the three turned to look at her, startled.

"Uh, no thanks, Amber," said Chris eventually. "I think we can handle it."

Feeling slightly put out by this, Amber watched from the sidelines instead as Chris, Dr Fenton and the other officer lifted the body bag off the gurney and manhandled it onto the autopsy table.

"There," said the officer, panting, as the unseen body came to rest on the cold, flat surface. "Well, that's my heavy lifting done for the day. I'm going back upstairs. You two coming?"

Chris and Jill shook their heads, and stood aside to give the man enough room to depart.

"Don't mind us," Chris added, looking round at the Forensics team, who had stopped work to watch. "We won't be here much longer. Keep up the good work."

"How can we?" complained one of the CSIs. "You're standing in our crime scene!"

"Then why didn't you cordon it off?" said Chris.

"Derek was _meant _to."

"Then how come he didn't?"

"How should I know?"

"All right, that's enough," said Dr Fenton, waving away the conversation. "I know this is inconvenient, everyone, but this poor soul needs my attention and I don't have any other facilities at my disposal, so we're just going to have to manage as best we can. Crime scenes are all very well, but life goes on - or not, for that matter," he added, looking down at the body bag. "We'll get him into storage as soon as we can, and then we'll leave you to it. In the meantime, we'll try not to touch anything. Agreed?"

There was grumbling from the assembled Forensics staff, but there was no actual disagreement - most CSIs were realists and understood that some crime scenes just couldn't be closed off quickly, easily and without interference from members of the public.

"Okay," said Dr Fenton hurriedly, perhaps aware of the glares he was receiving. "Let's have a look at this guy, see what I can do for him."

"Not much," said Chris, in what he must have thought was a helpful tone of voice. "He's kind of dead."

"And there was me thinking he was just sleeping it off," said Dr Fenton sarcastically. "I don't know what I'd do without your input, Mr Redfield."

He unzipped the body bag - then reeled back, coughing, as a smell worse than any Amber had ever encountered rose up from the opening. Chris grimaced as it hit him, and Jill's nose wrinkled in disgust. Others had weaker constitutions; two of the less experienced crime scene investigators bolted towards the door, and even some of the others headed for the exit, mumbling something about wanting to get some fresh air.

Thirty seconds later, the only member of Ruth's team still present was Quentin, a CSI veteran who seemed able to cope with any odour the natural world could produce. Unmoved by the commotion, the last remaining member of the Forensics department continued calmly with his work, as though he hadn't even noticed the smell.

Dr Fenton, Amber and the two STARS members crept back towards the bag, now almost afraid to see what was producing such an incredible stench. They peered into the opening.

"Oh dear," said Dr Fenton quietly. "Look at this…"

He peeled back the folds of the body bag to reveal its contents. The smell alone had been bad enough, but even without the stench that was coming up to meet them, this was a sight that could flip even the strongest stomach. Chris and Jill both gasped, and Amber felt her own face turn ghost-white.

"Oh no," she murmured, trying to avert her horrified eyes and failing hopelessly. "I don't believe this… what _happened _to him?"

The face staring blankly up at them was that of Jacob Miles. The former STARS member had never been tipped to win any beauty contests even in life, but his death clearly hadn't done him any favours either. His face and arms were badly cut and streaked with dried blood, and a large chunk of flesh appeared to have been gouged out of the side of his head.

Amber's eyes travelled downwards, but unfortunately things didn't get any prettier. His blood-stained work overalls had been savagely ripped apart at the waist, as had the body beneath - the man's head and torso were now almost completely detached from the rest of him. Something had dug deep, bloody pits into his flesh, leaving his broken body so mangled as to be almost unrecognisable. As for the smell…

"The guys from the ambulance said they'd brought him up from the sewers," said Jill, by way of explanation. "A pair of his co-workers found him. They said they'd never seen anything like it."

"Some kind of industrial accident?" suggested Dr Fenton.

"Apparently not," said Jill. "There wasn't any machinery down there that could do something like this to a guy, unless he got caught in one of those mechanical safety doors they use… but they said he was nowhere near the doors. He was just lying in the tunnel where he'd been working, face-down."

"Well, unless the guy who did it was a real grade-A psycho, I don't think this is a homicide," said Dr Fenton, shaking his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say a shark had got him, or maybe an alligator. Something big enough to bite a man clean in half and do some real damage along the way. Except there's no animal on earth with teeth that big… I just don't get it. What could have done this?"

"That's what they're asking you, doc," said Chris, shrugging.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to do an autopsy to find out more," said Dr Fenton, zipping the body bag back up. "All I can say is that the cause of death is likely to be due to the massive blood loss that this man's clearly sustained - though the shock alone would probably have killed him. As for how he died… well, your guess is as good as mine. Like I said, I'll have to do a postmortem and maybe run some tests. Anyway, let's get him into storage for now. Give me a hand, would you?"

Amber watched sadly as she watched Chris and Dr Fenton manoeuvre the man's body into an empty storage unit.

_What a waste. That guy could have made so much of his life, and now he's dead. I thought the drugs would get him first, but if he'd stayed clean then this wouldn't have happened anyway. He'd still be in STARS and we'd have an extra person to help us… it shouldn't have ended like this._

Her melancholy was interrupted, suddenly, by Jill's voice:

"Hey, Amb. You got a minute?"

Even though she probably hadn't, Amber was always willing to put one aside for special cases. She nodded, and gestured that they should go outside. Jill understood right away and followed her out of the room.

"Poor guy," Jill said, once they were outside. "That's a hell of a way to go. Miles may have been an idiot, but he didn't deserve a death like that."

"What do you think happened to him?" said Amber, for the sake of conversation; she already knew what Jill suspected, and what was more, she agreed entirely.

"Did you see him on TV the other day?"

"Yeah. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Giant alligator?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Jill agreed. "Must've run into it in the sewers. Bit the sorry bastard in half before he could turn and run."

"Where'd it come from, anyway?" said Amber. "I don't know many people with a pet alligator. Goldfish, sure - hell, Mom must've flushed half a dozen dead goldfish in our time, Jason kept trying to feed them potato chips - but an alligator? How many times did they have to flush to get _that _thing down there?"

"It can't have started off in the sewers," said Jill, who was already deep in contemplation. "And they're not indigenous to this area, so we can rule out the river. I figure it either escaped from the zoo - "

"Not likely, someone would have noticed," Amber put in.

"Then it probably came from a lab somewhere nearby," Jill finished. "Chris thinks Umbrella probably has some kind of T-Virus test lab somewhere in the city. He and Barry checked out a marketing office of theirs in uptown over the weekend."

"How'd it turn out?"

"Nothing," said Jill, as though she personally disapproved of this development. "Came back clean. All they found were some new commercial products - Safsprin and Adravil and stuff like that. Barry found some chemical storage rooms in the back, but nothing incriminating. At least," she added darkly, "there wasn't by the time we showed up."

"So you think this thing could be an escaped experiment?"

"Highly likely. I just wish we could figure out where they've got that lab hidden away."

"You're sure there is one?"

"Positive," said Jill firmly. "Chris and I got hold of some information about Umbrella a few days ago. I'm not going to say much, because we don't really have much information on it either, but we're pretty sure that the T-Virus isn't the only thing in Umbrella's toybox. We think they might be working on something else right now. Problem is, we don't know what - or where."

"Anything I can help with?" said Amber hopefully.

Jill shook her head.

"No. Not yet, at least. Right now, the best thing you can do is keep your eyes and ears open, and keep on sending information our way. By the way, how's that case of yours going?"

"Not good," admitted Amber.

"Really? What happened?"

Amber took a deep breath, and told Jill everything that had happened since her fateful meeting with Bethany the previous day. As she finished relating the events of her latest encounter with the Chief, Jill looked appalled.

"You mean that son of a bitch has put you on desk duty for no reason, and now he's going to hold an inquiry _and_ a disciplinary hearing? Great, now he and a bunch of self-important idiots who haven't been on a foot patrol in twenty years can throw even more shit at you, just to watch you duck! I don't believe this… what the hell does he think he's playing at?"

"You tell me," Amber burst out. "Jill, I don't know what's going on, but I know something isn't right here! Why is the Chief acting like this? And why doesn't he want you and the others to investigate Umbrella?"

"I don't know either," said Jill, shaking her head. "But Barry thinks the Chief's been acting _very_ strangely lately, and I'm inclined to agree. As for Chris, don't even get him started. He's so convinced that the Chief's up to something that he's even asked an old buddy of his in the FBI to do a background check on the guy."

"I think he's up to something too," Amber agreed. "I saw a couple of Umbrella execs in the waiting room outside his office, right after he first told me to stop helping you. I'm wondering if he's got some kind of conflict of interest going on… take all these alterations he's started making to the station. He told us there wasn't enough cash left in the budget for repairs! Where is he getting the money to do this?"

Jill raised her eyebrows.

"Funny you should mention that," she said, and she lowered her voice. "I heard he's been spending a lot of time at public auctions lately. The Chief's personal secretary says he keeps coming back with oil paintings. Ugly things, from what I've heard, but expensive ones. Okay, the Chief lives in Whitchley, just across the street from the Warrens and the Lonsdales, so we know he's not short on cash, but we're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars here! He shouldn't have that kind of disposable income, even on his salary…"

"So you think he could be taking bribes from Umbrella?"

"It would make sense," said Jill carefully. "Hard to say for sure, but it's a possibility."

They both fell silent as they considered the possibility of the Chief being corrupted by greed, power and the influence of a certain wealthy corporation.

"You said Chris asked this friend of his to conduct a background check on the Chief?" said Amber at last.

Jill nodded.

"Yeah."

"Ask him to do two more."

"Who do you have in mind?"

"The man in the grey suit who showed up at the accident scene after Bethany died," said Amber. "The one who claimed she'd thrown herself in front of the trolley on purpose. There's a witness statement from him on the file - I can't touch the case, but ask Kevin, he and David McGraw took over when I got booted."

Jill looked doubtful for a moment, as though she wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to do this, but she nodded anyway.

"Okay. Who's the other one?"

Amber hesitated, then said:

"Howard Arkenham. He's my new neighbour. I found him in my apartment yesterday playing video games with my brother, and I get the feeling he's trying a little too hard to be neighbourly. I think he might be up to something."

Jill looked even more uncertain.

"Amber, are you sure? The guy's probably just being nice… hell, maybe he likes you or something."

"Jill, Umbrella threatened to kill my brother, and when they planted that bouquet with the spiders in my kitchen, he showed up to help pretty quickly - and now he's started hanging out with Jason too, even though I told Jason not to let anyone in my apartment. Maybe it _is _just coincidence, but I want to be sure. I'd rather be paranoid than an only child."

Jill sighed.

"Okay, I'll ask," she said. "Just don't get used to it, okay? We can't do background checks on everyone who hangs out with your brother."

"Thanks, Jill," said Amber gratefully. She was filled with relief, as though someone had lifted most - though not quite all - of the burden she'd had to bear since the mansion incident right off her shoulders.

"Hey, don't mention it," said Jill. "You'd better get going, though. If the Chief catches you talking to me, he'll kick your ass."

"Okay. Give me a call if you hear anything."

xxxxxxxxxx

It was lunchtime by the time Kevin and David reappeared, fresh from their patrol. The west office usually emptied during the lunch hour, and today was no exception; the only person who had remained behind was Amber, who had brought sandwiches and wasn't in the mood to eat them anyway.

She sat morosely at her desk, signing off minor incident reports; at first, she didn't even notice her friends entering the room. It was only when Kevin flung his bulletproof vest noisily into a locker that she finally looked up and saw them.

"Hey Amb, we've got some news for you," he announced. "We found the getaway vehicle you were after."

The effect on Amber was electric; the instant she heard this news, she sat bolt upright and turned to look at Kevin and David.

"You did? Where?" she cried, jumping to her feet.

Kevin's smile faltered.

"Well… that's the bad news," he said. "The fire department found it first. It was sitting in the parking lot opposite Raccoon City General Hospital, over in Haines. Completely burnt-out. I'm guessing the perps must have torched it."

Amber sat down heavily, her enthusiasm instantly doused.

"Oh," was all that she could say. "Right."

"We did manage to get a trace on the licence plate, though," David added, perhaps noticing the extent of her disappointment. "The vehicle was registered to the Raccoon City branch of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Incorporated."

Amber looked up again, this time without much enthusiasm.

"So Umbrella owns it?" she said sourly. "Well, there's a big surprise. What did they say they used it for?"

David consulted a piece of paper.

"According to this, it belonged to the company's security services," he told her. "They reported it missing from the company parking lot about two hours before the incident."

"I bet they did," Amber said loudly, tossing aside a bundle of reports with such violence that it slipped off the edge of the desk and landed in the wastebasket. "And did they report three of their security staff missing at the same time?"

David looked startled.

"Say what?"

"Nothing," said Amber, giving up. She leaned across to retrieve the reports from the wastebasket, and put them back on the end of her desk. "Never mind. Thanks for letting me know, guys."

Kevin frowned.

"Amb, are you okay?" he said.

"I'm fine," said Amber shortly.

She should have felt triumphant at being informed that the vehicle had definite connections with Umbrella. On the contrary, the company had just thumbed its nose at her once again by destroying the vehicle and then having the temerity to claim it was stolen, thus eliminating any chance she might have had of implicating the company in Bethany's murder.

_Damn them! I'm no match for these people… there's more of them, they're better paid and better organised, and nobody's threatening to kill their families if they get involved! Why can't they slip up, just once, and leave me some evidence I can work with?_

"Are you _sure _you're okay?" said Kevin again.

"I told you already, I'm fine," Amber repeated. "I just have work to do, okay?"

"Okay then," said Kevin, without much conviction in his voice. "We'll catch you later."

"Sure."

They left again, leaving Amber to stare at the far wall, with silence ringing in her ears and only her thoughts for company. After a while, these too fell silent, so she ate the sandwiches that she had no real appetite for, because she couldn't think of anything better to do to fill the hours.

She was glad when the doors opened and people began trickling back into the room again. They sat down at their desks, Rita and Marvin first; this conscientious pair were always the first two back from lunch. Tim followed shortly afterwards, clutching a plastic bag from the nearby convenience store.

"What've you got there, Tim?" said Rita, noticing this.

Tim reached into the bag.

"Ice," he explained, bringing out a large bag of ice cubes. He pressed it against his swollen eye, then shuddered as the chill hit him. "Ugh… man, that's cold!"

"Cold ice," said Marvin, shaking his head. "Who'd have thought it?"

"Shut up, Marv," groaned Tim, slumping into his chair. "My head's _killing _me…"

Neil Carlsen and Elliot Edward followed a short time afterwards, both wearing the happy, slightly fixed expressions of the chronically over-caffeinated. Last to arrive, as usual, was Fulham. He slunk in ten minutes after everyone else, hoping not to be noticed and glowering at everyone else, in case they felt like drawing attention to the fact that he was late.

Nobody did. The usual conversation and background noise had already resumed, and the others were so accustomed to seeing him come back late from lunch that they didn't even notice. Life in the west office was already returning to normal; Amber, however, felt detached from it, as though she was observing things from a great distance instead of taking part.

_I feel like I don't belong here any more… what does that mean?_

She shook her head, trying to displace the thought, then carried on filling the hours till the end of her shift with more of the tedious, ever-present paperwork. She was glad when, at last, people started getting up to leave.

Her chair scraped back on the floor tiles as she got up. She put on her jacket, tidied a few of the papers on her desk, then picked up her shoulder bag and left the west office without looking back.

The gentle wave of sound that hit her when she walked into the foyer was quite different from the louder sea she'd left behind her. Instead of the loud background chatter, there were dozens of small, hushed noises that echoed slightly as they hit the high stone walls and ceiling - rustling papers, distant footsteps and stifled coughs, and only the gentlest whispers of conversation from the main desk.

"A _what_?"

Annie's voice was the unexpected jellyfish in the ocean of calm. She wasn't only the loudest of the three secretaries, but the loudest person Amber had ever met. Most of the time you didn't notice it, since she was too busy with her audio transcription to talk, but on the rare occasions when she opened her mouth, Annie could make every window in the building rattle in its frame.

"Annie, keep it down, will you?" complained Bernice, who was on the telephone. She was covering the receiver and glaring at the other woman.

"Yeah, you might not be busy, but some of us actually have work to do before we leave, and we'd kind of like to concentrate, okay?" said Carol, the third secretary, snapping the appointments book shut and dropping it on the desk.

"Sorry," Annie apologised, in slightly quieter tones. She turned back to the small queue of worried-looking people at the desk, and continued:

"So what exactly was it that you guys said you saw?"

Amber didn't catch most of the answers, because they all came at once, but the few fragments that she did overhear were perturbing, to say the very least.

"It was this strange monster with no skin…"

"Dogs that were more aggressive than usual…"

"A giant bug that gave off an incredibly loud hissing noise…"

"This flock of birds that just swooped down while I was gardening and…"

"Think it must be rabies, I've never seen a squirrel that…"

"All right, all right, calm down!" urged Annie, now her usual loud self again. "One a time, please! I can't hear you when you all talk at once like that! Now tell me again what you saw - sir, let's start with you, what was it you said you found in your garage this morning?"

So, it was starting, Amber thought to herself as she left the building. The reports were coming in faster now; reports of strange, frightening creatures that appeared seemingly from nowhere and attacked without warning. The T-Virus was still spreading, and it probably wouldn't be long before whole parts of town were overrun by the kind of monsters that Jill and the others had described.

Amber let the doors close on the worried murmurs of the crowd and their current spokesman, an overweight brown-haired man who looked like a mechanic. As she crossed the courtyard and made a beeline for the gates, she let her thoughts take over, and soon the walking became automatic.

Her feet carried her through the streets back to her car, now repaired but still bearing the graffiti pattern that Joseph had complained about on the day that he'd left her life forever. She unlocked the car door and opened it, only to be hit instantly by a wave of oppressive summer heat. It had been trapped in the car for hours, turning the vehicle into a cheaply-upholstered furnace on wheels, and she grimaced as the hot air enveloped her.

"Ugh… God, how does this thing get so hot in summer?"

She opened the car doors wide, to let the heat escape, and stood on the sidewalk until she was sure that the car's interior had cooled enough to be bearable. The stuffy air was still dissipating as she climbed into the car, and every surface felt hot to the touch, but it was an improvement on what it had been.

She sat for a while, with the two front doors open and the windows wound right down, waiting for the car to be comfortable enough to drive again. She could feel the heat from the seat cushions through her clothes, and the steering wheel was slightly too warm for comfort… she, Tim and Rita had rescued a dog from a car like this once, on a hot day in July two years ago. The owners had left it locked inside at the height of summer, with the windows rolled up and the air so thick with heat that it was a struggle for a healthy human in thin clothes to breathe, let alone a small elderly spaniel with a fur coat that he couldn't take off. Rita was a sweet, gentle young woman with a mild manner that came as standard, but by the time the car's owners had returned with their shopping, it had taken Tim and Amber all their combined strength to restrain her. She still remembered the look of shock on the owners' faces as Rita screamed at them for their ignorant cruelty, tears of rage rolling down her face, and the dog's faint panting on the sidewalk as it struggled for breath and life.

She wondered if the dog had survived the experience, and whether it had been taken away and given to a more considerate owner who knew how to take good care of animals, or whether it had slipped away in its sleep and gone to a place where there were no hot cars, nor passers-by who didn't care enough to call the cops in time…

Amber shook her head. Why think about that now? She pulled the doors shut and slotted the key into the ignition, but some overheard words from a passing conversation stayed her hand.

"… so he got the ballistics reports, huh?"

That wasn't a voice she'd heard before. She peered out through the dusty window, looking for the familiar blue uniforms of colleagues, but saw two anonymous-looking businessmen instead. Dark suits, leather shoes, plain black briefcases, haircuts that should have been cheap and watches that pretended to be expensive - they were the kind of guys you saw on the street every day, the kind you wouldn't look twice at, and yet they'd grabbed her attention with just two words.

_Ballistics reports… what the hell?_

Amber leaned out of the open window, straining to hear more as the men walked out of earshot. Why were they talking about something like that? Surely ballistics reports weren't the kind of things that touched upon their lives, not unless - but they couldn't possibly know about what happened earlier at the precinct. There was bound to be a rational explanation. Had she misheard them?

"Yeah, he got them all right," she heard the second man saying. His voice was slower and deeper than his companion's, though not as quiet. "Walked right in and snatched them up right from under their noses. Piece of cake."

A chill ran through Amber's blood, defying the heat for just a moment, before a hot wave of triumph and anger flooded through her veins and washed it away. This was no misunderstanding, and no coincidence. They knew what had happened, and what was more, they considered it so trivial that they didn't even care enough to whisper as they discussed it in public.

_Rational explanation, my ass…_

The men were still talking, but now they were too far away for Amber to hear what they were saying. Desperate though she was to overhear the rest of the conversation, trailing them slowly in a highly conspicuous, graffiti-covered car just wasn't an option. As quietly as possible, she got out of the car and followed the men, taking care to remain a little way behind so as not to arouse suspicion.

"So they didn't notice?" she heard the first man saying.

"Of course they didn't notice! He's in charge, he can go wherever he likes. Anyway, he picked up everything. The reports, photographs, casings, everything they recovered from the scene, it's all in one of those padded brown envelopes they use down in the mail room. It's being delivered to Reception right now. They'll never be able to trace this back to the operatives now, much less - "

The second man paused, his right foot halfway to the ground. He must have sensed Amber behind him; his less observant colleague didn't seem to have noticed anything, but he already seemed poised to turn around. Amber looked around quickly for somewhere to hide, spotted the opening of an alley and ducked into it, just in time.

"Did you hear that?"

Amber's breath was burning in her lungs, and her chest ached with the effort of holding in the hot, humid air so tightly. She wasn't making a sound, she knew that, and yet the thudding of her heart in her ears seemed so loud…

_Don't find me, don't find me, _she prayed silently. _Don't find me…_

"Hear what?"

"I thought I heard someone following us."

Amber pressed her back harder against the brick wall, and hoped that the shadows would conceal her. It was a vain hope. If they followed her into this alley, then no amount of darkness could hide her from view. She just had to hope that they wouldn't come looking for her.

"Following us?"

"Yeah. I just heard footsteps."

_Come on, keep walking… don't turn around, I'm not here, so don't try and find me. Just keep walking and leave…_

"Footsteps?" she heard the first man say incredulously. "We're heading into downtown, right in the middle of rush hour, and you're acting twitchy because you can hear _footsteps_? For crying out loud, get a grip, will you? Half the city's heading home at this time of day. I'd be a lot more worried if you _couldn't _hear footsteps. Now come on, we need to get back to Central City and check this thing over with the head of department."

"Where's the nearest subway station?"

"Westhaven and 12th. We'll take the next train heading south through Coburg and then get off at Central Station."

"I think we should take a different train. If someone's following us, I want to make sure we throw them off the scent."

"Look, will you just shut up? Nobody's following us. God, you should go get some medication or something, I've never seen you acting this paranoid before…"

The voices faded away into the distance, and Amber breathed out again. She wished she'd taken the time to change out of her work clothes before leaving the station; she felt too obtrusive in her police uniform, too obvious a presence on one of the quieter streets between uptown and downtown, where you couldn't find a crowd big enough to hide in. Spotting the men much further down the street, she followed after them again, this time at a more discreet distance.

The walk between the RPD's headquarters - poised precariously between the borders of uptown Winterton, Brentford, and downtown Coburg - and Central City was a long one, and it was a relief when Amber finally saw the two businessmen enter the Westhaven & 12th Street subway station.

She slipped through the crowd of people heading down the steps and followed the men through the crowded passage to the platform. A train was already on its way; she could hear distant clanks and mechanical groans from somewhere in the darkness of the tunnel, accompanied by a rush of cold, stale wind.

There was a sudden point of white light in the distance, small at first, but it kept growing bigger until it became a subway train - a roaring, rushing, grimy shape that shot out of the tunnel like a bullet from the barrel of a gun, dragging streams of light and colour along the tracks after it. Brakes screeched their protest as the ageing train came to a halt alongside the platform, and the lights became windows, the colours ugly neon examples of some amateur graffiti artist's handiwork, all lazy squiggles and dogged, pointless lines.

The doors slid aside to allow a dozen of the train's passengers to alight, and as the people waiting on the platform surged forward to take their place, Amber kept her eyes fixed firmly on the two businessmen. She followed them onto the train and sat down a few rows away. The second man glanced at her, warily, for just a moment, then whispered something to the other.

"Psh, are you kidding me?" said the first man loudly. "She's probably just on her way home from work. Day shift at the station ends around now, but if you're trying to get her attention then just keep it up. You're acting suspicious enough to warn my deaf, blind grandma all the way over in Little Estonia. Shut up and don't give her any reason to notice you, and she won't."

Much as she wanted to smirk, Amber kept her face perfectly straight, her attitude entirely casual, as she'd done so many times before in situations like this.

_Yeah, right, because cops are complete idiots, and profoundly deaf too. I spotted you because neither of you were smart enough to keep your mouths shut, and now I'm going to pretend I'm an idiot, and profoundly deaf, so you two can lead me straight to what you're hoping I'm not looking for._

The train stopped at the next station shortly afterwards and the men got off. Amber followed suit, disembarking a few seconds later behind a small family group and a pair of Japanese tourists to avoid being spotted. She waited until the businessmen were climbing the stairs and almost out of sight, then began trailing them again.

On the way up the stairs, she noticed the "Central Station" sign on the wall. That meant they were in Central City now, at the very heart of Raccoon City's big business district. Next to Whitchley, this was the wealthiest part of town, all gleaming sidewalks, newly planted trees and skyscrapers decked with giant corporate logos which lit up like Las Vegas at night. As she tried to look as though she wasn't following the pair of businessmen, she risked a glance up at the skyline - small but still significant in a town this size, and growing fast - and saw the names all around her.

Big West, the hotel chain that had started out in Raccoon City fifty years ago and had recently been valued at over $450 million. Hitoki Ohnishi, the Japanese home electronics firm whose founder now lived in Whitchley, living it up with all the other CEOs, local celebrities and self-made millionaires after massive financial success in the region. The Lonsdale Corporation, Raccoon City's biggest stockbroking and financial investments firm, still owned and run by former bank clerk Jeffrey Lonsdale and his family… with the notable exception of Jeffrey's eldest grandson, Timothy, who had never shown much of an interest in the family firm.

And then, of course, there was the Umbrella building. Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Incorporated owned the biggest skyscraper in town, and could easily afford to buy the three nearest competitors should it feel the need to expand its branch headquarters by several thousand square feet. Gut feeling had already told her that their destination was the concrete, chrome and plate-glass behemoth in front of her now, but it still came as a shock to see them walking up the steps and through the doors.

"I knew it," she murmured. "Well, you may think you've been really smart getting someone from the precinct to help you get your filthy linen looking whiter than white, but this time it's _my _turn to play dirty."

She didn't sneak in through a side door, or a service entrance. Sneaking in was out of the question; there were dozens of closed-circuit cameras trained on the building, and doing anything that might alert the security staff would instantly put paid to her plan.

After a moment's careful thought, leaning against a one-way sign and gazing up at the spire of St Michael's Clock Tower in adjoining Newbury, Amber still hadn't come up with a good way to get the evidence back, but she already knew how to get inside the Umbrella building without being noticed. In fact, now that she thought about it, it was obvious…

xxxxxxxxxx

The receptionist smiled, revealing two full rows of gleaming orthodontic perfection.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Incorporated," she said smoothly. "How can I help you, officer?"

Walking in through the front doors had been the easy part. Nobody really noticed you if you strolled into the building as though you had every right to be there. Unfortunately, Amber hadn't thought much further ahead than this. Faced with the pretty young blonde's bright smile and professional demeanour, she realised she had no clue what to say next.

"Hi," she began, shuffling her feet. "I was called in by one of your staff to investigate a complaint about… uh, a recent incident of anti-social behaviour at these premises."

The lie had bought her a few seconds, at least. The receptionist frowned delicately.

"Anti-social behaviour?" she said, puzzled.

"Yes, ma'am, that's correct," Amber answered, already realising that she'd made a big mistake. She had absolutely no idea how to keep up this pretence, and the seconds she'd already managed to buy herself were running out fast.

"Well," said the receptionist, still frowning, "I'm not really sure if there has been an incident. Our security staff haven't mentioned anything unusual. Do you know who called you in?"

_Think, Amber, think - quickly! Think of a name, any name, just long enough to distract her!_

A half-remembered face swam into Amber's head - a frightened, desperate face, worried about protecting its family, sounding as though it already knew big trouble was coming its way but was too terrified to name names. Why that face and the name that went with it, she didn't know, but a hunch told her that it was a name to remember.

"Dr Hartley," Amber blurted out.

"Oh, Dr Hartley?" said the receptionist politely. "Which one?"

_Shit… there's two of them? I don't even have a first name! Now what?_

"Uh…"

"Did you mean Dr Jon Hartley?" the receptionist said helpfully, picking up a pen from her desk. "If so, I'm afraid I won't be able to ask him to come down. He's in a meeting with the director right now. Would you like to talk to Liz Hartley instead? She's his wife, so she might be able to - "

"Yeah, that's fine," lied Amber, feeling her heart sink. "Could you get her to come down and speak to me privately?"

"Of course," said the receptionist, smiling again. "I'll call her office now."

As the young woman picked up the phone and started dialling an extension number, Amber looked round at the lobby, making a mental note of security camera positions. It was a huge room, fronted by massive plate-glass windows that reached all the way to the high ceiling. The three remaining walls were brilliant white and contrasted with the shiny black marble floor, onto which the company's logo had been embossed. The air was cool - surprisingly so, given the amount of sunlight that poured into the room - but no amount of air-conditioning was about to make Amber feel comfortable in this place. She shifted from foot to foot, trying to think of a quick way to avoid the unwanted meeting, find the stolen evidence, and distract the receptionist long enough to retrieve it and make a quick exit.

She looked around again, taking in the pillars, the small seating area near the door, the elevator and the stairs. None of these seemed likely hiding places, and she wondered if the evidence had already ended up in the internal mail, never to be seen again.

As the receptionist chattered politely down the phone, Amber glanced down at the reception desk and almost felt her heart come crashing to a halt. Sticking out from a small pile of registered mail on the desktop was a large, bulky-looking brown envelope that appeared to contain rather more than padding. She knew, right away, that this was what she was looking for. The problem was, how was she going to get it out of the building without being seen?

Avoiding the security cameras would be the easy part, because only one of the four cameras was trained on the reception desk. It was positioned just above and behind the desk, giving the operator what was probably an unrivalled view of the back of the receptionist's head.

She glanced up. The receptionist was still on the telephone, but starting to frown rather more now. It looked as though the game was almost up. She'd have to act fast if she was going to get that evidence and get out of here…

Amber leaned on the desk, placing her elbow next to the pile of post, then looked up at the clock on the wall.

"Excuse me," she said loudly to the receptionist, pointing up to the clock. "Is that the correct time?"

"Just a second," said the young woman distractedly, and she turned around.

Amber seized her chance. With a swift jerk of her elbow, she nudged the whole pile of post off the desk and onto the floor, then gasped out loud.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, as the receptionist turned round, looking startled. "I'm so sorry, ma'am… hold on, I'll pick that up for you…"

She hunched over the scattered envelopes and letters, picking them up and stacking them into a neat pile again. The receptionist sighed, and returned to the telephone.

Amber looked up quickly, to check that the young woman wasn't looking her way, then grabbed the brown envelope and shoved the envelope into the waistband of her pants. She untucked her shirt and pulled it loosely over the offending envelope, to hide its telltale bulge, then tucked her shirt back into her pants. She could feel herself blushing, as though the whole world had just seen what she'd done, but the receptionist was busy talking on the phone and apparently hadn't noticed anything.

_Thank God for blind spots and bad camera angles. Now all I have to do is get the hell out of here…_

The receptionist put the phone down.

"Well," she said, turning to Amber, who was putting the stack of mail back on the desk, "I just spoke to Dr Hartley. She said she didn't call the police about any anti-social behaviour in the building."

"Oh?" said Amber, feigning innocence. "That's strange, because my lieutenant told me we'd had a call from Dr Hartley at Umbrella's headquarters, and he ordered me to go and investigate right away. He said it was a very serious complaint."

"Perhaps it was a prank call," said the young woman, shrugging lightly. "We get those occasionally."

"I'm sure I needn't remind you that we take hoax calls very seriously, ma'am," said Amber sternly. "The emergency services are here to help people and save lives. Responding to this call has prevented me from being able to provide police support elsewhere, and that could mean real trouble for someone who actually needs the police to show up and help."

"Yes, I understand completely," said the receptionist, nodding. "I'm sorry if we've wasted your time, officer."

"Well, I guess it wasn't your fault. But if there's no problem here, then I'd better head back to the station and report to my lieutenant," said Amber. "You have a nice day, ma'am."

She turned around and walked calmly out of the foyer, with the reassuring weight of the envelope pressed against her stomach and her heart thudding loudly against her ribs. She knew that recovering stolen evidence on behalf of the Raccoon Police Department was perfectly lawful, but felt as though she'd just done something illegal and was about to get caught red-handed.

The temptation to run almost overcame Amber as she heard the doors close behind her, but she resisted and carried on walking until she knew she was well out of range of Umbrella's security cameras. Even then, she kept walking, albeit a little faster, and didn't stop until she was back on the subway train, sitting alone in an empty carriage and clutching the precious envelope tightly to her chest.

Not until she got off at the oddly-placed St James East subway station, which was right on the edge of her own neighbourhood, almost hidden next to a construction site that had been bedecked with cranes and scaffolding since the early Eighties, and not until she was certain that there was nobody else nearby, did she dare to break into a run.

Her apartment building was eleven blocks away, but even at an all-out sprint the journey seemed endless. Amber kept on running until she was right outside the building. She hurled herself up the steps, threw open the main doors and stumbled, panting, into the foyer, pausing only to slam the doors behind her. She leaned against them, still breathing heavily, and closed her eyes.

"_Who__'__s there?__" _came a sharp, elderly voice from beyond the front door of the ground level apartment.

Amber relaxed.

"It's only me, Mrs Carmichael," she said out loud.

"_What? Who__'__s that?__"_

"It's me, Amber."

"_What? I don__'__t know anybody called Anna. Who the hell are you?__"_

"No, Mrs Carmichael, it's _Amber_," Amber repeated, still slightly out of breath. "Amber Bernstein - I live upstairs. You know. Apartment 113. You remember me, right?"

"_You mean the lady cop?__"_

"Yeah, that's right, the lady cop," Amber answered.

"_Well stop making so much racket out there, I can__'__t hear the TV! And tell that no-good brother of yours to keep it down, or I__'__ll throw you both out, rental agreement or no rental agreement!__"_

"Sorry, Mrs Carmichael. I'll make sure he quietens down in future," said Amber, getting up.

"_You__'__d better!__"_

"Yes, ma'am," Amber called back, as she went up the stairs. She hadn't recovered her breath entirely, but encounters with her landlady always made her long for the safety of her own apartment, and now was definitely no exception to this rule. She wouldn't feel safe again until she was inside those familiar walls, with nobody around to see what she was keeping tucked under her shirt.

The rest of the route was too familiar to be remarkable. She went up to her front door, turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. It didn't budge.

"Jason?" she called. "Are you in there?"

"_What__'__s the password?_" came the response from inside.

"Jason, it's me, Amber," she sighed.

"_Hey, I__'__ve only got your word for it_," she heard Jason reply.

"What's up with the door?"

"_Armchair__'__s in front of it and I__'__m sitting in it. You__'__re not getting in without a password._"

"Jason, you didn't tell me you _had _a password."

"_You didn__'__t ask._"

"How can I give you a password when you didn't tell me there was going to be one? I don't know what it is!"

"… _oh yeah. I forgot about that. Do you want to know what it is?_"

"That would be nice," said Amber, gritting her teeth.

"_It__'__s __"__dog biscuits__"__. But don__'__t tell anybody._"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"_Okay, now you have to give me the password._"

"Let me guess - "dog biscuits"?"

"_How__'__d you know?_"

"Jason, let me in right now or you're going to spend the rest of the summer at Grandma's house!"

"_Grandma? No way! She smells like old people and she doesn__'__t even have a television! And she thinks I__'__m a girl! The last time Mom and I went to visit, she kept calling me Olivia!_"

"Then open up already!"

"_All right, all right, I__'__m coming__… __hold on a second._"

Amber heard furniture scraping, then the door opened. She hurried inside and slammed the door behind her, then locked and bolted it. Jason stared at her as she put the chain on for good measure.

"Something wrong, sis?" he said at last.

"You really want to know about my day?" said Amber wearily, going through into the kitchen and sitting down at the table. "Get the blinds, will you?"

"Why?"

"Because I want them closed, that's why."

"Want some privacy, huh?" commented Jason, pulling the kitchen blinds shut.

"You could say that," Amber murmured, and pulled the envelope out from underneath her shirt.

"What's that?" said Jason, peering at it closely.

"It's a big brown envelope and I'm hoping it contains what I think it does, or I'm in serious trouble," Amber replied, even as the feeling of dread closed in. What if she had stolen an envelope of important documents in the mistaken belief it was police evidence? What if she was wrong? Even worse, what if she was right and it was the missing evidence? Once the intended recipients of the envelope found out it was missing - and they'd find out soon, she realised, with a sinking heart - then they'd immediately know who to blame. She was already known to Umbrella, and yet she'd walked straight into the building, in full view of their security cameras, so easy to identify that she might as well have given her full name and address to the receptionist on her way out. Why had she been so _stupid_?

"So are you going to open it or not?" said Jason, looking at the envelope on the table.

Amber's hands were trembling as she picked up the envelope and turned it over. She opened it, very cautiously, and held her breath as she peered inside. Sure enough, she saw a sheaf of papers, bullets and bullet casings wrapped neatly in police evidence bags, and a handgun that looked only too familiar.

"That's it," she whispered.

"What is it, Amb?" said Jason, peering over her shoulder to get a better look.

"Evidence," said Amber, and a smile spread across the lower reaches of her face as she sealed the envelope again and placed it on her lap. "All the evidence I need…"


	14. Private & Confidential

**14: Private & Confidential**

**Thursday 20th August, 1998**

Vigilance had been easy that night. Amber had slept with a kitchen knife in her hand and the precious evidence tucked safely beneath her pillow, but small noises had woken her frequently and it had been difficult to settle back to sleep. On the fourth occasion she'd given up completely and lain awake in bed, staring at the pattern on the bedroom ceiling until morning.

She'd been glad when dawn finally broke and the time came for her to meet Ruth at the Forensics lab, under the cover of the early morning mist. It had been her intention to return the brown envelope to her colleague, but Ruth had pointed out that there were already extensive security measures in place at the Forensics department and that if these had failed to prevent the disappearance of the evidence before, then there was little she could do to prevent the same thing from happening again. Instead she'd suggested hiding it somewhere more secure, and so the two women had handed over the evidence to the STARS members. Jill and Chris had locked it up in the STARS office's safe, promising to check on it regularly, and that had been the end of the matter.

Now, three days after the envelope's recovery, Ruth and a handful of trusted senior forensic scientists were conducting a more surreptitious examination. So far, they hadn't let on that the evidence had been safely returned to the precinct. Even Kevin and David didn't know it had been recovered, but although Amber was sympathetic when they complained of their difficulties in pursuing a case without any evidence, she decided they were probably better off not knowing where it was.

Last night, when everyone but Gus and the two guys on the night watch had gone home, she'd made copies of the witness statements and smuggled them out of the building so she could sift through the papers at home without the risk of discovery.

Even though the place had only been half-full, there had still been a lot of people dining at Fiorelli's that day. Among those present had been an elderly couple, a pair of foreign exchange students from RCU, a trio of middle-aged women sharing a giant hot fudge sundae, some rowdy uptown kids, a single mom and her toddler, three tables of heavily-tattooed bikers, and some uneasy-looking kids from the Sk8boarders who had spent the whole time glancing over their shoulders at their uptown rivals. And that had been before Tim had collected statements from the rest of the crowd that had gathered around the accident scene… the result, naturally, had been a big stack of statements, none of them containing much useful information regarding the suspects.

The most useless statement of all had been the one they'd collected from the man in the grey suit. Amber knew perfectly well it was all lies, but there had been no way of proving it without the evidence to back her up. Now, though, she thought smugly, as she opened the precinct doors, she was going to find out who this guy _really _was and nail his ass to the wall -

"What in the world…?"

The lobby had been dark and quiet when she'd left late last night. Now there was scaffolding towering over the reception desk and workmen were everywhere, carrying tools and ladders back and forth across the lobby. The secretaries were still working, but Bernice had her fingers stuck in her ears and Carol's pained expression indicated that she was already fed up with the shouts and clatters around them. Even Annie was frowning as she tried to filter out the background noise and concentrate on her audio typing.

"What's going on?" said Amber loudly, trying to make herself heard over the banging and drilling.

"The Chief said Mayor Warren gave him some kind of grant from the city to clean and restore the precinct buildings," Bernice answered, removing her fingers from her ears as the noise of power tools died down again.

"Yeah, they're cleaning the skylights in the roof today," Carol added, pointing upwards. "They should be done by the end of the week."

"We have _skylights_?" said Amber, looking up at the ceiling.

Carol was right. The workmen standing on the top tier of scaffolding were cleaning away years of accumulated grime from a set of skylights. Although their work had only just begun, there was already a perceptible difference in the lobby, with a few beams of sunlight filtering through the thick coating of dirt on the glass panes.

"It's looking better already," remarked Bernice. "I never realised how much brighter it was in this room when I first started working here. Amazing how the dirt can just build up like that."

"Yeah, I didn't even know the skylights were there," said Amber.

"You never noticed the skylights?" said Carol, surprised. "Not even once?"

"No, not even once," said Amber. "I thought they were just part of the ceiling."

"I knew they were dirty, but I didn't think they were that bad," said Bernice, shaking her head. "Wow. Guess they're well overdue for a spring-clean. Still, it'll look great in here once they're done."

"It certainly will," agreed Amber, taking a step backwards to admire the view.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry," said Amber immediately, turning round to apologise to whoever it was she'd just bumped into.

To her surprise, she saw that it was Jill, standing near the desk with a bundle of files in her arms.

"Oh - Amber, it's you," she said, and her expression brightened. "Hey, I've been looking for you everywhere. I've got something to tell you. Come upstairs and meet me in a few minutes."

"Can't you tell me now?" said Amber.

"No, the Chief's around here somewhere and I don't want to risk it," said Jill, glancing to her right. "Just meet me upstairs in the STARS office."

She hurried away. Amber thought about following her and asking her what it was she wanted to talk about, but gave up on the idea and went through to the west office instead.

"Amber, this case _sucks_," Kevin complained loudly, as she passed his desk. "Do you want it back? Ruth says the evidence has gone missing, and the Chief's really getting up our asses about it. David said the guy wouldn't stop looking over his shoulder when he was going through the witness statements yesterday. In the end he had to tell him there were fresh doughnuts in the cafeteria so he could get rid of him!"

"Sorry, Kevin," said Amber, heaving a sigh. "I'd love to take it back, but you know I can't. If the Chief thinks I'm getting involved again then I'll get fired."

Kevin's face fell.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Well, thanks anyway. Have they set the date for the hearing yet?"

"No, not yet, but I'll probably hear about it soon," said Amber. "I'll let you know."

"Hope it all goes well for you," said Kevin. "By the way, are you _sure _you don't want this case back?"

"Very sure, Kevin," said Amber firmly. "I'll see you later."

"Why? Where are you going? I thought you said you wanted to make some headway with that paperwork the Chief gave you," said Kevin suspiciously, before she could walk away again.

"Relax, I'm not going anywhere," said Amber, heading towards the door. "I just need to fetch something from upstairs. I'll be back in a minute."

"Hey, Amber! I've got some mail here for you," Marvin called from the side office.

"Thanks, Marv. Can you leave it on my desk?" Amber asked him.

"Sure," Marvin replied cheerfully. "Just come back before that paperwork of yours starts to breed, okay?"

"Will do," said Amber, with an uneasy glance at her desk. Desk duty was proving to be much more difficult and tedious than she'd expected. Yesterday, the Chief had dumped several large stacks of paperwork on her desk and told her to deal with it by the end of next week. Even though the desk was practically groaning under the weight, she'd vowed to shift every last piece of it well before the deadline, which meant she was going to be incredibly busy for the next few days. Worse, the piles seemed to be getting bigger every time she looked at them. Perhaps Marvin was right and the stacks of paper were evolving into sentient life forms…

_Bet you don't have a pill for that, Umbrella,_ she thought, closing the door and walking into the evidence room. _Maybe you should do the world an actual favour and create a monster that eats paperwork. We could probably do with a dose of P-Virus around here. My desk's starting to look like the world's biggest fire hazard and I don't think the Chief's even half done with me yet._

As she entered the corridor, she saw another workman going upstairs with a bucket of soapy water in his hand. She followed behind, hurrying up the staircase and then down the corridor.

She stopped as she reached the end, and turned to stare at the statue. It had been covered by a sheet. Two workmen on stepladders were busy mopping away grime on the ceiling above it, which turned out to be a beautiful stained glass skylight, sapphire blue flecked with pieces of red, orange and green. The shadows of two more men were visible on the roof above, doing the same thing on the other side of the glass.

_Well I'll be damned,_ she thought, ducking under the second ladder and through the open door. _I never noticed that before, either. This day's turning up all kinds of surprises._

For once, the last four members of STARS weren't busy working at their desks when she came into their office. Instead, Barry and Jill were playing darts; Amber noticed that they'd pinned a photograph of the Chief right in the middle of the dartboard, and that it was already peppered with tiny holes. Rebecca was opening up a greetings card with "Congratulations On Passing Your Driving Exam!" printed on the front, and she gave Amber a shy smile as she passed.

The only person at his desk was Chris, but he wasn't working either. He looked up from his magazine at her approach.

"Heyyy, Amber," he said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," said Amber. "Just trying to get through my paperwork. You?"

"Oh, same old, same old," he said carelessly, returning to his magazine.

Amber tilted her head.

"What are you reading?" she said curiously.

"Newspaper."

"Which one?"

"_Rose Bay City Telegraph_."

Amber tilted her head a little further.

" "Lesbian Mud-Wrestling Edition"?" she read.

Chris grinned.

"Okay, you got me. It's the _Bikini Times_. One of my Air Force buddies bought me a subscription for it a few years back and his brother's the editor. I didn't have the heart to cancel it."

"Yeah, think of all those disappointed lesbians," said Amber, trying hard to maintain her serious expression. "They might have to sell their bikinis, and then you'd have to set up some kind of charitable foundation to support them."

"Hey, you know me, always willing to raise a few Gs for G-strings," said Chris modestly. "I'm all about supporting good causes."

"Especially ones with tits," said Amber, giving him a playful shove.

"What can I say?" said Chris, completely unabashed. "Those tits need my support."

"Don't encourage him, Amber," warned Barry, who was taking his turn at the dartboard. "He's bad enough as it is."

He concentrated hard, squinting a little, then threw the dart with a deft little movement of his wrist.

"One hundred," he announced with pride, as it hit home. "Take that, Irons!"

"Nice shot, Barry," said Jill, moving past him. "Keep up the good work."

"Hey, it's your turn, Jill," Barry protested. "Don't you want to make it three in a row?"

Jill turned around.

"I bet I can do it from here," she said, with a sudden grin.

"Bet you can't," said Barry immediately, but he passed her another dart anyway.

"Just watch me."

"Oh, I'm watching..."

Chris and Rebecca both looked up as Jill took aim. Poised and careful, she squinted a little as she lined up the dart. Her hand blurred and the dart shot forward, burying itself in the board with a loud _thunk_.

"Oooh," said Rebecca, impressed. "Right between the eyes."

"Okay Jill, you win this round," said Barry, removing darts from various parts of the Chief's anatomy. "How about best of seven?"

"Maybe later," said Jill, waving the proferred darts away. "I want to talk to Amber first."

"Okay. Chris, you're up."

"Hell yeah!" said Chris, with enthusiasm, and his magazine slid under the desk as he got up from his seat. "Time for you to learn from the master!"

Amber recalled that Chris had beaten her, narrowly, in the precinct's annual marksmanship contest this year. The coveted trophy was sitting on a shelf in the STARS office, and she couldn't help noticing how suspiciously free from dust it was. Next year, though, she promised herself, she'd beat him for sure.

Jill turned the key in the office door and went back to her desk. Amber pulled up another chair, so she could sit beside her.

"Got any news for me?" she said.

"You could say that," said Jill, reaching for her packet of cigarettes, then remembered herself and slapped her other hand. "Damn, I should really throw these out… anyway, it's about that trace you asked me for, on those two guys. We got the results back this morning."

"And?" said Amber impatiently. "What did they say?"

"The first guy is a businessman," said Jill. "Name of Lyle Linton. Thirty-four years old, local guy. He runs his own company, Linton Financial Holdings, but he's got close ties to Umbrella and several of their associates. Linton's also a strong supporter of Michael Warren and he's donated generously to Warren's campaign fund in the past. Probably a little too generously, given his level of income. Our sources think Umbrella may have been funnelling additional funds into the campaign through him, and it's likely that they've been using his company as a front for a few other business dealings too."

Amber nodded. It was nothing that she hadn't already suspected, but it was nice to be proven right.

"His closest associate is a guy named Peter Lampeter, another businessman with a company based in Brentford," Jill continued. "His story seems to check out fine, but it just so happens that his wife, Linda, is the head of research at everybody's favourite company. They married four years ago, around the same time she joined Umbrella. Linton seems to be a mutual friend of theirs."

"So this Linton guy has a vested interest in keeping Umbrella's involvement under wraps," said Amber.

"That's about the size of it," agreed Jill.

"And the other guy? Howard Arkenham?" said Amber.

"We did a thorough trace, but we couldn't find anything on him," Jill confessed. "No criminal record, no shady business dealings, nothing. Not even an after-school detention to his name. I hate to tell you this, but he's clean. Nothing linking him to Umbrella in any way."

"Damn," said Amber, disappointed by this disclosure. "I was so sure he was in on all this."

"Sorry, Amber. He's just some guy who moved into your apartment building and wanted to make an effort with his new neighbours. As far as we can tell, the only agenda he's got is a "To Do" list stuck to his refrigerator."

Amber tried to picture her neighbour writing a "To Do" list. Though it was mildly amusing to think of someone like Howard Arkenham writing "take over the world" on a refrigerator Post-It note, she had to admit that his list was far more likely to include the words "buy milk" than "spy on Amber Bernstein".

Jill was right, she realised, with a tiny pang of guilt; Howard was just being nice. Her paranoia was starting to turn everybody into a potential Umbrella spy, no matter how undeserving they were of the label.

"Thanks for checking," she said. "At least now I've got one less thing to worry about."

"Speaking of which, how _is _that case going?" said Jill. "Have David and Kevin got anywhere with it?"

"No, but Ruth says she's made some progress with the evidence," said Amber.

"That's good. Just a shame you couldn't find that girl's arm," said Jill.

"I know. I'm just lucky I found the rest of the evidence in time. Ten more minutes and it could have been a whole different story," said Amber. "Do you think they know I took it?"

"Probably," said Jill. "They know everything else that goes on in this town. But I doubt they're going to complain too loudly about no longer being in possession of stolen police evidence. Just watch your back while you're off-duty."

"I will, don't worry."

"Any word on that disciplinary hearing?"

"Nothing yet. I'll let you know."

Neither of them could think of anything to say next, and the conversation stalled. Jill picked up some papers from her desk and shuffled them in a half-hearted way, and Amber got up to look around the office.

She saw a pair of plane tickets sitting on Chris' desk, on top of an open envelope. She picked them up curiously. One was in Barry's name, and the other was in Chris' name. Both were one-way flights to France, scheduled to leave in a few days' time.

"What's this all about?" she said, holding up the tickets.

The STARS members turned to look at her, each one opening their mouth to say something and then reconsidering the wisdom of doing this. When no explanation came, Jill looked at the others and sighed.

"Chris and Barry are going to Europe to continue our investigation into Umbrella's activities," she said. "I'll be joining them later on, but I've got a few things I need to do here first."

Amber's heart sank. She tried to think of something to say, and opened her mouth, but had to close it again when no words came.

"Oh," she said.

_Please don't go,_ she wanted to say. _Don't leave me here all alone. What will I do without you? And what if something happens to you guys out there? You can't go to another continent and fight Umbrella all by yourselves…_

Jill smiled apologetically.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I was going to tell you before, but what with everything that's been going on lately - "

"We weren't planning on leaving so soon," Chris cut in. "We were going to wait until things settled down here before we left, but if the information we've been hearing is true, then Umbrella's working on a new project. Something called "Nemesis". We have to go to Europe and find out what they're up to over there, so we can put a stop to it. Jill says she's going to stay behind and find out more about the G-Virus before she joins us."

"G-Virus?" said Amber, astounded. "You mean they're working on _another_ virus? Why? Wasn't the T-Virus bad enough?"

"Guess not," said Jill. "We don't know much about the G-Virus yet, other than some rumours it exists, but we're looking into it. Chris and Barry are leaving on Monday. I'll probably be here for another month, to see what information I can dig up, and then I'll be leaving too."

"Are Rebecca and Brad going with you?" said Amber, still trying to digest this news.

"No, Rebecca's staying behind this time," said Jill. "She's been through a lot and we don't want to expose her to any more danger."

Amber wanted to say that Rebecca would probably be in more danger if she was left alone in Raccoon City, with her team-mates no longer around to protect her from Umbrella, but prevented herself from doing so.

"And Brad?" she said instead.

"He's not coming either," Chris answered. "He's in no fit state to go on another mission. He won't be joining us unless he gets a whole lot better very quickly."

Amber shook her head.

"I can't believe you're really leaving," she said. "But this isn't for good, right? I mean, you are coming back to the precinct afterwards, aren't you?"

She looked from Jill to Barry, and then to Chris. None of them answered her question.

"You're - you're not coming back?" she said faintly.

"Not to the precinct," said Barry. "We're going to quit before we leave for Europe. The Chief doesn't believe us, or doesn't want to, so there's not a whole lot more we can do here. It'll be easier for us to operate outside the police force. We can get more done, faster, and without any paperwork to do."

"We'll come back once this is all over, don't worry," Jill reassured her. "As soon as we've done what we have to do, we'll make our way back and sign up with another STARS unit. Things will be back to normal before you know it."

The feeling in Amber's gut told her that this wasn't true. No matter how much they tried to convince her otherwise, she knew the days of normality had come and gone, and it seemed unlikely that they would ever be back. In spite of her reservations, she tried to smile.

"Well, I'd better get back to work. Thanks for letting me know about the trace. Can I take a copy for Kevin and David?"

"Got one here," said Jill, handing her a piece of paper. "We'll keep the original upstairs with the evidence, just in case the Chief finds out about it and it has an unfortunate accident with the shredder."

"Thanks," said Amber. "I'll see you later."

She opened the door, then remembered something and closed it again hurriedly.

"Jill, where did you say the Chief was today?" she said.

"Not sure," said Jill. "He's around somewhere. Why? Worried he's going to see you sneaking out of here?"

"You bet I'm worried," said Amber. "He's looking for an excuse to fire me, and I really don't want to give him one. If he catches me up here after he warned me to stay away…"

"Do you want me to find out where the Chief is?" said Rebecca, looking up from another card. "If you need to get back downstairs without him seeing you, I can go outside and check to make sure he isn't around."

"Would you?" said Amber gratefully. "Please, Rebecca. I'd appreciate it."

Rebecca smiled, and put the card down on her desk.

"Of course," she said. "Hold on a second, I'll go check the hall."

She unlocked the door and left the room. A few minutes later, she came back into the office.

"It's okay, I can't see him anywhere," she reported. "I think you're good to go."

"Thanks, Rebecca," said Amber. "I owe you one."

She went to leave, but she was barely through the door when the younger girl turned in the doorway and touched her on the shoulder.

"Amber?" she said softly. "Can I talk to you?"

Amber tried not to groan. She'd already been away from her desk for much longer than she'd intended. She wanted to get back downstairs, so nobody would remark on the length of time she'd been away.

Rebecca seemed to sense her reluctance.

"Please," she said. "I know you're busy, but I don't know who else to talk to…"

The imploring look in the girl's eyes won Amber over. There was no way she could turn down a plea for help from someone like Rebecca, who had so few people left in whom she could place her trust.

"All right," she said grudgingly. "But not right now. I've been gone too long already. Meet me at my place at twelve-thirty. You know where I live, right?"

Rebecca nodded.

"Okay. I'll see you there."

The door closed. Amber looked around to make sure the Chief was definitely nowhere in sight. As Rebecca had told her, there was no sign of him, but she got the feeling that the wisest kind of departure might be a hasty one. She hurried back down the stairs and into the west office.

"Hey Kevin, got something for you," she said, and dropped the piece of paper on her friend's desk. "It's about one of the witnesses in that case you're working on. Someone told me to pass it on to you and David."

Kevin picked it up and read through it.

"Hmm," he said. "Not sure what use it'll be, but I'll put it on the file. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Amber sat down at her desk and picked up the letter that Marvin had left for her. It was a brown paper envelope, stamped "Private and Confidential". She opened the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper that lay inside. It read:

_Dear Lieutenant Bernstein,_

_Further to your involvement in the events of Sunday August 16th, 1998, the RPD wishes to inform you that a disciplinary hearing is to be held on **Monday September 28th, 1998**. Your conduct in this matter will be examined by a panel of senior police staff, who will then decide whether it is appropriate for you to continue in your present role._

_The hearing will take place in the police station's video conference room at 1:30 PM. Please be aware that your presence is **mandatory**. Failure to attend will result in your immediate suspension from the police force and may result in further disciplinary action._

_If you are unable to attend at the specified date and/or time, please notify Personnel within three working days of the receipt of this letter, so that the hearing may be rescheduled._

_Yours sincerely_

_Nick Ryan_

_Head of Personnel, Raccoon Police Department_

Officer Ryan's signature had been scribbled at the bottom of the page. Amber read through the letter again, trying not to let her anger show. Couldn't he just have told her instead of writing that cold, impersonal letter? It was protocol, of course. All notifications of disciplinary action had to be issued in writing to the officer concerned. Still, he could have said something.

September 28th. Just over a month until her career collapsed in ruins. She didn't have much time. Bethany's killers would have to be hunted down, tried and convicted fast if she was going to survive this. If she didn't, then the only thing that could save her from dismissal and disgrace would be some incredible act of divine intervention.

_Thing is, I don't think I can count on a miracle. And once the wheels of justice start turning, that's it, you're screwed. Fate's going to have to intervene big time to stop all this from happening._

A portentous rumble from somewhere above made her jump. The letter fluttered to the floor, and promptly got stepped on by a passing officer.

"Sounds like there's a storm front moving in," commented Tim, looking up from his paperwork.

"We could do with something to clear the air," said Kevin. "It's been like a furnace out there for days. I thought I was going to pass out on patrol yesterday."

There were some murmurs of agreement, but Amber didn't join in. She leaned down to pick up the letter, which now bore a perfect shoe-print on its reverse, and folded the paper into four. She tucked it into her pocket and glanced up nervously at the ceiling.

Yes, there was a storm on the way all right, she thought. But would the lightning strike her, or would it end up burning the whole city to the ground?

xxxxxxxxxx

Rebecca was waiting outside the front door of the apartment when Amber got home.

"Hi," she said awkwardly. "Thanks for letting me come over, Amber. I really need to talk to someone about this. Someone I can trust, you know? I wanted to tell Jill and the others, but - but I don't think they'd understand."

Amber unlocked the door.

"Dog biscuits," she said loudly.

Rebecca looked alarmed by this outburst.

"What?"

Amber made a face.

"Don't ask," she said. "It'll take too long to explain and it'll only sound weird."

She waited for a moment or two to pass, then hammered on the front door.

"Jason, will you please just open the door?" she yelled. "I don't have all day!"

"_I thought you weren't coming home till later!"_

"Shut up. I brought food."

"_Why didn't you say so?"_

Jason opened the door, and pushed one of the armchairs back into its place. He looked puzzled when he saw Rebecca standing beside his sister.

"I can't eat her," he said. "I know I'm kind of hazy on state law, but I don't think that's allowed. Kind of a shame. She'd make a cute sandwich."

Rebecca burst into tears.

"What did you have to say that for?" Amber said crossly. "No, forget it, I don't care. Just shut up and go play something loud and - and pointlessly violent, and leave us alone!"

"What about my lunch?" Jason complained.

Amber tossed him a paper bag.

"There, it's a chicken bacon sandwich with extra salad and ranch dressing. Same way you always have it. Now eat up and don't bother us. We're going to the kitchen so we can talk about girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?"

"Shoes."

Jason's perplexity grew.

"How can you have a conversation about shoes?" he said. "You put them on your feet. What's to talk about?"

"You're a guy, you don't understand shoes like we do," said Amber. "Now butt out and go blow up some gangsters or something."

"Okay."

"Don't listen to him, Rebecca," Amber told Rebecca, as Jason made a dive for the couch and turned on his games console. "He didn't mean it. He was just being dumb."

Rebecca took out a tissue and blew her nose.

"It's okay," she said. "I should be used to it by now. It's not like it's the first time someone's made jokes about STARS members being eaten…"

"Come on, let's get you inside so we can talk," said Amber, changing the subject. "You like coffee?"

"Do you have any herbal tea?" ventured Rebecca.

"I've got iced tea. Raspberry flavour. Is that okay?"

"That sounds great."

While Jason immersed himself happily in a world of explosions and car chases, Amber and Rebecca retired to the kitchen. Rebecca sat down at the kitchen table and folded her hands in her lap, watching Amber as she opened the fridge and poured out two glasses of iced tea.

Amber sat down, at the opposite end of the table. For a short time they looked at each other, ignoring the drinks in front of them. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to begin the conversation.

"So what's this all about, Rebecca?" said Amber at last, breaking the silence.

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, then faltered. She looked as though she'd lost her nerve to speak. Her mouth closed, and she inhaled deeply, as though she was trying to breathe in courage as well as oxygen.

"I - " she forced out the first syllable, and suddenly the others came flowing out all at once, no longer dammed by hesitancy and fear. "I'm leaving STARS, Amber. I don't think the others are going to need me, now that they're leaving for Europe."

Amber sucked in her breath. She should have known. It had been a stupid decision to leave Rebecca behind, although she hadn't dared tell the others what she'd really thought of it. Leaving their team medic behind so they could go on a dangerous assignment far from home seemed little short of suicidal, when they needed every member of STARS at their disposal, but could she change their minds and persuade Rebecca to stay? Or had the damage already been done?

"What makes you say that, Rebecca?" she said, as kindly as possible.

"They don't think I can cope," Rebecca answered, in a small voice.

_I knew it_, thought Amber. _They should have asked Rebecca to come with them. Now she thinks she isn't needed or wanted on this mission, or that she's just not good enough to be part of the team. Oh, guys, what have you done?_

"Rebecca, it's not that they don't think you can cope - " she tried to say.

"That's exactly what they think," Rebecca interrupted. There was a note of bitterness in the young girl's voice; she probably felt betrayed by the decision, after all that she and the others had been through together.

"They think whatever's going on in Europe will be too much for me," she continued, then conceded, after a pause, "well, at least after what happened. Maybe they'll change their minds and ask me to come join them later on. I don't know. But if they're not going to need me around, there's not much I can do to help anybody, so I'm leaving."

Rebecca picked up her glass of iced tea and lifted it to her lips. She took a small, tentative sip, then made an appreciative noise and took another.

"Mmm. This is really nice. I don't think I've had raspberry tea before. My mom always gets lemon flavour."

Amber was still mulling over what the girl had said. Was there any way to persuade the girl that the other STARS members didn't really think she was a fifth wheel? It was understandable that they'd want to keep her out of danger, because everybody somehow felt the need to protect Rebecca, but were they really protecting her by driving her away like this, however unintentionally?

"What are you going to do?" she asked Rebecca. "When you leave STARS, I mean? Are you going to join another police force someplace else?"

Rebecca shook her head.

"No," she said. "I've got some unfinished business to take care of."

There had been something in the way she'd said those words. The way she'd looked away and lost eye contact, just for a second, as the words "unfinished business" were spoken. An issue was being skirted somewhere, and Amber was determined to find out what. In fact, she already had a feeling she knew what this was about…

"This is about Billy Coen, isn't it?" she said quietly.

Rebecca's eyes opened wide with shock at the mention of the man's name. Her lips parted slightly, and a blush rose unbidden to her cheeks.

"H-how did you - ?" she gasped.

"Just a guess," said Amber. "I had a feeling you were holding something back and I figured he had something to do with it. So I was right? You're trying to find him?"

Pink with embarrassment, Rebecca nodded.

"That's what you wanted to tell me? That you're leaving STARS so you can track him down?"

The reply was another nod.

"So you've changed your mind and decided to turn him in?" said Amber. "How are you going to explain that to the authorities?"

Rebecca was silent for several seconds. She looked down at her glass, avoiding Amber's gaze. She wiped a bead of water from the glass as it trickled down from the rim, stopping it in its tracks.

"I'm not," she said, at the end of an uncomfortable pause.

"Then why go looking for him, after all this time?" said Amber. "If you're not trying to bring him to justice, then why would you…"

The question died on her lips as she looked from Rebecca's downcast eyes to the glass in front of her. Rebecca had just drawn a shape with the tip of her index finger in the condensation that misted her glass of iced tea; the outline of a heart.

_Oh, no. Please tell me she isn't…_

Amber looked up at Rebecca and saw a strange, faraway look in her eyes. Of course, that was it. There was no mistaking the signs. The younger girl didn't seem to realise how obvious it was, but she was pining for Billy Coen - a man who was suspected of having done something terrible, but couldn't seem to decide whether he had or not.

Innocent? Guilty? Who knew what he'd really done? Rebecca didn't know, or seem to care. Devotion could be just as blind as love, and it seemed logical that an eighteen-year old girl with romantic inclinations would come to see the outlaw as a hero, especially after he'd protected her in a house filled to the rafters with monsters and violent death.

The girl's evasiveness would make the tactful approach almost impossible. Whenever the subject of the ex-Marine came up, Rebecca resorted immediately to secrecy and silence. The only way to find out the truth would be to tear away the protective coating of lies and half-truths and things carefully left unsaid, until there was no way left for her to hide what lay beneath.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" said Amber, opting for the blunt approach.

"No," said Rebecca defiantly. "I'm not."

"Your glass says you are," Amber pointed out.

Rebecca looked down at the heart shape etched in the water droplets. A guilty look crossed her face and she quickly wiped the moisture away, erasing the image with a sweep of her fingers.

_Some things_, thought Amber, _can't be wiped away that easily. This is going to take some time…_

xxxxxxxxxx

Jason was playing _Tarmacgeddon II, _mowing down hapless pedestrians, causing unnecessary bloodshed and quietly minding his own business, when the sound of raised voices from the next room caught his attention.

"_Yes, I do know what Stockholm Syndrome is! And I don't care! That isn't why I want to find him!"_

That didn't sound like an in-depth discussion about shoes to him. That sounded like guy trouble. Although he didn't normally take an interest in female gossip, he was a Bernstein and naturally inquisitive, and therefore interested to know what his sister had been lying to him about, and why.

He turned the TV volume down a few notches, shouted "Stupid aliens! Take that, gaylords!" for the sake of verisimilitude, then got up soundlessly and pressed his ear to the wall. He couldn't quite hear what Amber was saying, but it sounded as though she was trying to placate the other girl.

"_I already told you, it's not a relationship thing!" _came the indignant reply._ "He saved my life, and - what do you mean I don't owe him anything? I owe him everything! If he hadn't been there to look after me, I'd be dead now!"_

This was intriguing. The other girl, Rebecca, sounded very angry about something. He wondered who this man was, the one who had apparently saved her life. Why were they arguing about him? Was this somebody that Amber liked too? No, that couldn't be right. She was still upset about losing her boyfriend on that mission, so she wouldn't be fighting over another guy already. What could this be about?

"_I know what everybody else thought of him, but Billy's a decent guy, okay? If he wasn't, he would have left me to die. I don't think he's guilty, and I want to find out what really happened, so I can find some way to help him clear his name - "_

Jason's eyes opened wide. A criminal? Was that what they were talking about?

"_Look, Rebecca, there's no point in hiding it. You like this guy, don't you? You might as well admit it."_

This was better than television, Jason thought. It was just a shame he couldn't put his ear any closer to the wall. He was close to putting his entire head through the plasterboard as it was, and didn't think crashing through the wall and landing in the kitchen would make a good impression on Amber's visitor, who was really cute and probably wasting her time on this Billy guy.

On the other side of the wall, Rebecca started to cry.

"_He was so nice,"_ Jason heard her say. _"Whenever I was with him, I felt like… like everything was going to be all right, you know? I wanted him to come with me, but I knew the others would be waiting for me at the mansion and I was scared they might hurt him. I couldn't let him die, Amber, not after all he went through to protect me…"_

Jason looked around the living room, hoping to find an empty glass to amplify the sound from next door. The only thing he could see in the room was his glass of iced tea. It was almost full, but it would have to do. He picked it up and drained its contents, then pressed it against the wall and listened closely.

As the conversation continued, it stole over Jason that perhaps he shouldn't have drunk all that iced tea in one go. Unfortunately, the discussion was starting to get really interesting, and if he interrupted Rebecca and his sister by going past them on his way to the bathroom, then they might stop talking or even change the subject entirely. He crossed his legs tightly, hoping for the best, and listened on.

Five minutes later, however, Jason had to admit defeat. Rebecca had started talking in a very heartfelt manner about Billy's many admirable qualities, and an imminent death by bladder explosion just didn't seem worth the effort any more. He put his glass back down on the coffee table and made a mad dash for the door.

xxxxxxxxxx

"… and I'm worried about him," said Rebecca, wiping her eyes.

Amber was about to ask why when the kitchen door slammed back into the wall. Jason ran through the doorway. He almost stumbled into a kitchen chair, but he shoved it roughly aside. Ignoring the stunned silence from the two women, he hurled himself towards the door at the other end of the room.

"Incoming!"

He disappeared through the door. Rebecca stared after him, astonished, then blushed and averted her eyes a few moments later as she heard the sound of what could only be described as running water.

Amber screwed up her face in disgust.

"Ugh. Guys," she said. "And I bet he's going to leave the seat up too. No matter how many times you tell them, they _always_ leave the toilet seat up. I think it's some kind of congenital defect."

"Yeah," agreed Rebecca. "They never seem to learn, do they?"

Jason returned a moment later, looking greatly relieved.

"You know, Jason, I was just telling Rebecca about that annoying habit you guys have of leaving the toilet seat up," said Amber, before he could walk past her. "It's kind of funny, actually. I told her I was going to zap you in the ass with my Taser if you did it again."

She paused, and smiled.

"But I'm sure you remembered this time, right?"

A nervous look stole across Jason's face and he immediately rushed back the way he'd come. This time there was a thud, and the sound of a flushing toilet.

"Wow. He even flushed," said Amber, impressed. "Now that's progress."

"It is?" said Rebecca.

"For Jason? Absolutely," said Amber. "Now if only I could teach him to stop drinking milk out of the carton…"

Jason came past at a dead run.

"Don't Tase me, sis!" he exclaimed. "I'll remember next time, I _swear_!"

"You'd better, or you're getting fifty thousand volts right in the ass!"

The door slammed shut. Shortly afterwards, the sounds of video game explosions started up again.

"I think we're safe," said Amber, breathing out. "Sorry about that. Now why are you worried?"

"I'm worried Billy might not have made it out of the mountains," said Rebecca, and she wiped her eyes again. "I know what kind of things that were out there in the forest… dogs, zombies, birds, all sorts of creatures. What if something attacked him? He could be wandering out there, infected, turning into a zombie - "

"Rebecca, I'm sure he's fine," said Amber quickly, seeing more tears well up in the girl's eyes. "If he survived everything else the two of you went through, then I don't see why he couldn't have made it back to safety. Now that you've reported him dead, the Marines won't be after him. Nobody's going to go out there looking for a dead man, right?"

"I guess not. And he had a Magnum with him when he left. But - "

"He'll be fine, Rebecca. Wherever he is. If he'd turned into a zombie, we would have known by now. There are towns and hiking trails all over the mountains, and there haven't been any more reports of attacks up there since the mansion incident. If anything, they're getting closer to the city. Somebody would have found a body if he'd been killed. And we definitely would have heard something if the Marines had caught up with him."

The young medic still looked disconcerted.

"I don't know," she said uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," said Amber.

Rebecca sighed.

"Amber, I don't think I can't live with "pretty sure". Even if I never see him again, I have to know if he's all right."

"And what then?" said Amber. "Like I told you before, if the military finds out Billy Coen is still alive, he'll be captured and executed. As for you, the odds of you not going to jail after committing felony perjury and helping a wanted criminal evade capture are going to be pretty astronomical. Even if nobody else finds out he's alive, what are you going to do once you've found this guy?"

"I don't know," said Rebecca. "But I have to find him. I don't care what happens after that."

"Why are you _telling _me all this, Rebecca?" said Amber, sighing. "Do you want my advice, or do you want me to help you look for him, or what?"

Rebecca shook her head straight away.

"No, it's nothing like that. I just want somebody to know where I'm going. Just in case anything happens to me."

"Why? Are you expecting anything to happen to you?" said Amber.

She couldn't help feeling uncomfortable. How convinced was Rebecca that this man was innocent? Was this her way of saying she anticipated trouble if they ever met again?

Rebecca must have seen her expression, because she quickly answered:

"No, I'm not, but someone should know, just in case. You know, if the STARS want to get hold of me or something. I don't want people to think I've just dropped off the face of the earth."

"Are you really sureyou want to do this, Rebecca?" said Amber, making a last-ditch effort to change the girl's mind. "It's going to be dangerous out there on your own. Is this really something you're willing to put your life on the line for? Because if you're not sure, then - "

"I'm very sure," Rebecca interrupted. "Amber, I can't live the rest of my life not knowing what happened to him. I just can't."

It struck Amber that those were essentially the same words she'd said to Chris outside the chapel, on the day of the STARS memorial service. She'd been talking about Joseph, and how he died, and she remembered the helplessness and desperation she'd felt that day. She'd had no idea what had happened to the man she loved, and she'd been willing to do anything to find out why he'd been taken from her, regardless of the consequences. She'd practically got on her knees and begged them to tell her… because she couldn't spend the rest of her life not knowing.

"You - you understand, don't you?" said Rebecca, her anxiety rising.

Amber saw her own sad entreaties reflected in the younger girl's eyes, and knew instantly that there was no way she could dissuade the girl from trying to find the man.

"Of course I do," she said gently, and she placed her hand on top of Rebecca's. "If you really have to know what's happened to him, then I'm not going to stop you. Just be careful, okay?"

For the first time that day, Rebecca's smile reached her eyes.

"I will. You won't tell anybody what I'm doing, right?" she added.

"No, I won't," said Amber, and finished, against her better judgment, "That's a promise."

Rebecca's face lit up. She got up from her chair, and before she knew it, Amber found herself being hugged tightly around the shoulders.

"Thank you… I knew you'd understand! You're the best, Amber!"

"Okay, okay, take it easy," said Amber, smiling. "I'm glad you're happy. I don't know why, because I think you're crazy, going off on your own like this."

Rebecca released her.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," she said. "If anyone asks me where I'm heading, I'm flying out to India to make sure my parents are safe. But don't worry, I'll keep in touch and let you know where I am."

"You got an email address?"

"Yes," said Rebecca.

She took a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled something. She tore the page out, with a flourish, and handed it over. Amber took it and read:

rnb4ever(a)raccoonmail. com

"Clever," she said, with a wry little smile. "Very clever. The others must think you're a big music fan. I'm sure Billy will be _very _impressed."

"How about yours?" said Rebecca, who suddenly looked very self-conscious.

"Okay."

Amber took the notebook and wrote her email address neatly on the next page.

"There you go."

Rebecca read what she'd written, and saw:

double-amber(a)raccoonmail. com

"Double Amber?" she said.

"It's because of my last name," Amber explained. "Bernstein is German for Amber."

"So your name means Amber Amber?" said Rebecca. "Double Amber?"

"Exactly," said Amber.

"That's neat," said Rebecca, and she smiled. "I'll remember that."

She tucked the notebook back in her pocket and knocked back the rest of her iced tea in one go.

"Well, we'd better get back to work, or they'll come looking for us," she said.

"I was thinking the same. Come on, let's go."

As they passed Jason, who was playing something noisy with an air of deep frustration, Amber glanced at the STARS medic. The thought of someone so young and vulnerable searching for the man all by herself frightened her, because she knew what escaped convicts often did to girls like Rebecca. But beneath that fragile exterior was a fierce and independent spirit, one that wouldn't give up trying to help others in need, even in the face of impossible odds. In some ways, she thought, Rebecca was a lot tougher than people gave her credit for.

"You're really leaving tomorrow?" she said, closing the front door behind them.

"Yes," Rebecca replied. "This is my last day as a STARS member. I hate to leave the others, but I don't think they really need me any more. Even if they did take me along with them, I'd probably just get in their way."

"I think they've made the wrong decision," said Amber. "I think they're going to miss you when you're not around. But at least this way you can go and track down that missing person of yours."

Rebecca smiled.

"It'll be nice to see him again."

Amber still felt as though she should be talking Rebecca out of doing this. Common sense dictated that a teenage girl infatuated with a wanted criminal shouldn't go off alone in search of him. And yet… there really wasn't anything she could say that would do any good. Rebecca clearly had her heart set on her new mission, and Amber knew from past experience that there was no dissuading someone in love from doing something foolish. She might as well accept the fact that Rebecca was going to leave town, no matter what she said, and hope sincerely that everything would be all right.

"You know, Rebecca," she said at last. "You've spent all this time talking about Billy…"

Rebecca looked wary, as though she was expecting another lecture.

"… and I _still_ don't know what he looks like. Tell me everything. Is he blond? Dark? Tall? Handsome?"

Rebecca relaxed.

"Well, he's tall," she began, coyly. "Not as tall as Captain Wesker was, so he has to be under six feet, but he still looks tall. He's got brown hair, kind of long at the back, and it's sort of swept back like _this_ - "

She demonstrated by sweeping her hair back from her forehead and over her scalp. Amber nodded, and they started to go downstairs.

" - and he's got blue eyes, and he's really, really strong. He can pick me up in his arms, run down a corridor and carry me up a flight of stairs without breaking a sweat. That's how strong he is. And he's got a tattoo all down his right arm."

"Sounds cute," Amber remarked.

Rebecca gave a little squeak of outrage.

"Hey! Go find your own fugitive!" she said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is he yours?" Amber teased her. "Has he got "Rebecca" tattooed on his other arm?"

"Maybe he has," said Rebecca dreamily. "Do you think saving his life might have earned me enough undying gratitude for a tattoo?"

"Are you kidding? He's probably getting it done right now. With lots of little hearts round it."

"You think so?"

"Don't see why not. You let him go so he wouldn't be executed. If someone did that for me, I'd get their name tattooed everywhere I could find space."

Rebecca stared thoughtfully into space for a moment, then she erupted into giggles. Amber just grinned and shook her head.

"You know what," she announced, as Rebecca's shrieks of laughter echoed in the hallway, "I'm not even going to ask. I don't think I want to _know_."

"Hee-hee-hee…!"

xxxxxxxxxx

**Sunday 23rd August, 1998**

True to her word, Rebecca had left early on Friday morning. Amber had arrived at the parking lot just in time to see her loading a box of her possessions into the back of her new car.

"Good luck, Rebecca," she'd said, hugging her. "You be careful now, won't you?"

"I will," Rebecca had promised. "Thanks for everything, Amber."

"You're welcome. Just keep in touch and take care of yourself out there. And don't forget to give Billy Coen a big kiss."

"Hey!"

"I'm only kidding. Hope you find him all right."

They'd exchanged goodbyes and promises to keep in touch, and Rebecca had driven off. Seeing the four STARS members become three had upset Amber, later, in a sad, quiet way that didn't need tears. Even now, when she was meant to be engrossed in her paperwork, she couldn't help thinking about Rebecca's recent departure.

_I should have tried harder to stop her. Then again, she's a STARS girl. They don't let just anybody into the unit. And anyone who can get through two mansion complexes full of monsters was born lucky, even if they did have some help along the way._

Amber shook her head, and took a sip of coffee. Rebecca was a survivor, she told herself. One way or another, the little medic was sure to prevail and get the job done. All the same, she hoped that Rebecca's good luck wouldn't abandon her now.

_I never even got the chance to say well done for passing her driving exam… I just hope she comes back in one piece so I can tell her._

A junior officer from the Police Liaison department dropped a piece of paper onto her desk as he passed. It looked like another one of those pointless internal memos relaying information that was already common knowledge amongst the precinct staff. Amber picked it up and flipped it over to see what it said.

_Police Memorandum_

_This letter is just to inform everyone about the recent move of equipment that has happened during the precinct's rearrangements. The safe with four digit lock has been moved from the S.T.A.R.S. office on the second floor, to the eastern office on the first floor._

_2 2 3 6_

_Raccoon Police Liaison Dept_

No sooner had she finished reading this than a bellow of rage sounded from upstairs, startling the other officers in the room and shaking even Elliot Edward and Neil Carlsen from their usual Sunday morning torpor.

"What the hell's going on up there?" said Elliot.

"Probably the Chief freaking out again because someone's nudged a damn statue out of place," said Kevin, and there was a titter of laughter from further down the line of desks.

"Doesn't sound like the Chief," said Elliot, his brow already furrowing in perplexity. "You think someone just hurt themselves?"

"Could be one of those workmen up on the roof," Rita suggested.

"Yeah, like anyone with the union works Sundays," scoffed Neil.

"How come _we _work so many Sundays?" Elliot said indignantly. "Cops have personal lives too…"

"So do criminals," Amber retorted. "That's why we work Sundays."

"And when was the last time you took a break, Lieutenant? I don't remember the last Sunday you weren't hanging around this dump," Elliot responded. "You got a life outside the force or what?"

"What can I say? I'm here for the overtime," said Amber, shrugging. "And I've got a lot of work to do."

"Not for long," said Neil, with a smirk.

Kevin rose to his feet.

"What's that supposed to mean, Carlsen?" he said belligerently.

"I mean everyone in the precinct knows she's going to be up in front of a disciplinary hearing come the end of September," Carlsen answered, unmoved by Kevin's show of umbrage. "When was the last time you ever heard an officer come out from one of those without a pink slip?"

"Plenty of times!" Rita pitched in. "People come out with temporary suspensions, or they put them on desk duty for a while, or dock their pay, or they get a demotion. A disciplinary hearing doesn't always mean you're fired."

"Yeah, it's not an automatic career-ender," Kevin agreed. "Right, Amb?"

"Right," said Amber, distractedly. She was listening to the uproar upstairs and hadn't actually heard the question; had she done so, she would almost certainly have disagreed, at least in her case. Even if she miraculously survived her upcoming hearing, the Chief would probably find some other excuse to dismiss her from the force soon. Her time here was almost up…

The argument outside was growing steadily louder, and was starting to elicit a certain amount of curiosity from some of the younger officers in the room, as well as some irritation from the ones who just wanted to get on with their work in peace. As the volume grew and Kevin's muttering began to take on an increasingly angry tone, Amber decided that someone needed to investigate, if only to find out was going on and tell whoever was involved to shut up.

"Excuse me for a second," she told the others.

She rose from her seat and hurried out through the door. The noise was louder in the evidence room, and by the time she opened the door into the hall, it had turned into a screaming match.

Just as she'd suspected, the STARS safe was at the centre of the controversy. An officer named Locksley from the Police Liaison department was dragging it along the upstairs corridor, but Jill and Barry were protesting loudly and hanging onto the safe, trying to drag it back in the other direction.

Amber heard an angry exclamation from the end of the hall as Chris came running after them.

"Hey! That's our safe!" he yelled. "We bought that at an auction two years ago! Put it back!"

"If you bought it for the station, then ask the cashiers to put it on your expenses and they'll reimburse you," said Locksley sharply. "Get 'em to give you a receipt."

"We didn't buy it for the station!" said Chris. "It's on loan to the precinct, for STARS use only, so you can shove that receipt right up your ass!"

"Chris is right, this isn't police property!" Jill cried. "You've got no right to just come into our office and - and _take _it!"

"Look, Valentine," said Locksley, with growing impatience, "this safe is going to the east office, whether you like it or not. Tell your friend here to get a receipt for this thing, because he's not getting it back. I'm sure the girls in Accounts will be happy to give him whatever he paid for this piece of junk."

"Now listen up, Locksley!" Barry bellowed. "You go back downstairs and tell whichever one of those sheep-faced, bean-counting invertebrates told you to do this that if Alan wants a safe for his office, he can come up here and ask us for it! Maybe we'll think about selling it to him! Until then, it stays here!"

"Don't you start that shit with me, Burton!" Locksley shot back. "I'm under orders to take this downstairs, so that's what I'm going to do!"

"You wanna go downstairs, I'll send you downstairs, you thieving son of a bitch!" Chris snarled, pushing his shirt-sleeves up over his forearms. "And that safe's gonna go downstairs after you!"

Things seemed about to take a distinctly unpleasant turn, and Amber thought now would be a good time to intervene before Chris really lost his temper and decided to repeat the Elran incident frame by frame.

"Whoa, whoa," she called, running upstairs. "What's the problem, guys?"

"Amber, he's got our safe!" Jill exclaimed. "He's trying to take it!"

"Lieutenant, I'm being obstructed in my duty!" complained Locksley. "I was told to take this safe downstairs and they won't let me!"

"That's because it's _our _safe!"

"Amber, you can't let him take it!"

"What about the - "

"All right, everybody," said Amber loudly, silencing them all. "Let's just calm down so we can talk about this. This is about the memo someone just dropped on my desk, is that right?"

Locksley nodded.

"Memo?" said Barry, frowning. "What memo?"

"This one," Locksley told him, taking a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and thrusting it in Barry's face. "Went round the precinct this morning. Everybody else knows about it, so what's your excuse? Forget how to read or something?"

Barry took the memo from his outstretched hand. He and the other two STARS members studied it for a minute or so. Their eyes widened, and Amber could see their outrage growing. Before they could say anything that might re-ignite the argument, she said:

"Locksley, do you mind telling me why this safe is being transferred downstairs?"

"It's been requisitioned by the east office," said Locksley sullenly. "Burton and Redfield are leaving tomorrow, right? Nobody's going to be using this thing for a while, so someone from the department told me to go and move it downstairs. They said the guys in the east wing have been asking for a safe for months."

Chris was still reading the memo, but it looked like he'd finally got to the bottom line.

"They even included the combination," he said, narrowing his eyes. "The actual combination! Of all the stupid, boneheaded - !"

"I'm going to speak to someone more senior about this, Locksley," Amber interrupted. "If this safe belongs to the STARS members then it can't be moved without their consent. In the meantime, do me a favour, go downstairs and wait in the main hall for a while."

"Forget it," said Locksley roughly. "I've got orders and I don't have time to wait around all day while these three piss and moan about having their safe moved."

The man's unsympathetic attitude had already left a bad impression, and Amber's patience was starting to wear thin.

"I don't know who put you and your department up to this, Locksley, and I really don't care," she told him. "But if you're under orders to take this thing downstairs, then you can at least show some respect and let Officer Burton remove the contents first. There are classified documents in there pertaining to STARS operations and he and the others should be allowed to take them out in private and find an alternative method of storage for them."

The man didn't move, and Amber resisted the temptation to smack him across the head. Instead, she let out a heavy sigh.

"Locksley, I don't know whether you're being ignorant or just plain stupid, so I'd like you to repeat what I just asked you to do," she said. "What do I want you to do?"

Locksley rolled his eyes rudely.

"You want me to leave these guys to bitch about the safe to you for a while and take out whatever junk they keep in there, and then let me do my damn job."

"I think you missed my point, Locksley," said Amber, in her sweetest tone of voice. "I want you to go downstairs and wait in the lobby, _very patiently_, while the STARS members remove important documents and take them back to their office. I will then speak to them about this situation and see what I can do to resolve it in a peaceful, civilised manner. Would you like me to write that down for you in big letters, so you can understand, or are we both clear on this?"

"We're clear," muttered Locksley.

"I'm sure we are," said Amber pleasantly. "Now get downstairs before Officer Redfield decides to help you on your way. And don't come back until I tell you."

"Yeah, whatever, you patronising bitch," Locksley mumbled, and went downstairs.

"Eat dirt, shithead!" yelled Chris, who'd overheard this.

"Kiss my ass, Redfield!"

"No thanks, I don't like the taste of bullshit!"

The door of the evidence room slammed shut. Chris leaned over the handrail of the staircase, glaring down at the floor below.

"This is the Chief's doing, isn't it?" said Jill suddenly. "Some spiteful little stunt he's pulling to get his own back after all the trouble we've caused him. That pig-faced son of a bitch! All our evidence is in that safe! It's the only proof we have of what happened up in the mountains, and now he's trying to take away our only secure method of storing it! Now Umbrella's going to try and steal it, the same way they got someone to steal the evidence from Amber's case, and - "

Amber looked round frantically.

"Keep it down, someone'll hear you!" she hissed. "I know we've got a problem here, Jill, but right now our main priority is to secure our evidence! We need to find somewhere to store the mansion incident files, not to mention the evidence for the Rove homicide."

"You're right," Jill agreed. "I think we should start making copies of our evidence files and send it to a few secure locations, so we've got duplicates if anything happens to the originals."

"I have an old friend posted at a military base in Colorado, a few states away," said Chris, his ire momentarily forgotten. "He's got high-level security clearance and access to the vaults where they keep all the top secret stuff. He owes me a favour, so I'm going to ask him to hook us up with some secure storage. We were at the Academy together but he kept in touch when they kicked me out of the Air Force. Haven't spoken to him in a while, but I know I can trust him with anything."

"I think now would be a good time to get back in touch, Chris," rumbled Barry. "That safe's not going to be any use to us any more. Everybody in the precinct probably knows the combination by now."

"Yeah, they had to go and print it all over that _stupid _letter!" said Chris furiously. "Those idiots! What's the point of having a safe if everybody knows how to open it?"

"Look, guys," said Amber, before the misery and hopeless resignation in the air could settle on everyone's shoulders, "let's just concentrate on getting our evidence someplace safe before we do anything else. I'll ask Alan what's going on and see if he can shed some light on this. Maybe we can get that safe back and work out how to change the combination."

"Can't," said Barry glumly. "It's stuck on 2-2-3-6. The guy who sold it to us said it couldn't be changed. Last owner must've done something to it."

Amber groaned.

"Great," she said. "So now what are we going to do?"

"We're just going to have to let it go," said Jill miserably. "Barry's right, that safe's gone. We might as well accept it and let Locksley take it downstairs. We're leaving soon, so the east office staff will have more use for it than we will."

There was a moment of subdued silence.

"Damn," said Barry at last. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm glad I'm getting out of here."

"Me too," said Chris. "Come on, let's move that evidence. I'll call Dirk at the base and see if we can get those documents to him before we leave tomorrow night. Jill, go speak to Ruth and see if she can think of somewhere else Amber can store her evidence without it being tampered with."

"I'm on it," said Jill, and she bent down to open the safe. The door clicked as she entered the final digit of the combination, and she and Chris started taking out bundles of documents. With their arms full, they hurried back in the direction of the STARS office.

Barry checked the safe to make sure that there was nothing left inside. When he was satisfied that no trace of evidence remained, he pushed the door closed.

"Well, that's it," he said, with an air of finality. "You'd better go back downstairs, Amber. There's nothing more you can do here. Tell Locksley he can come back up and move the safe."


	15. Trial By Ordeal

**15: Trial By Ordeal**

With peace and quiet restored, everybody settled back down to work. Amber was surprised by how quickly the time seemed to go, but she managed to reduce the height of her paperwork stacks considerably before lunchtime.

This seemed like a good time to take a break. Amber's mouth was dry and nobody had bothered to change the drum of water in the cooler yesterday, so she decided to go to the police cafeteria to get something to drink.

The police cafeteria was located on the far side of the precinct's east wing. A plain brick outbuilding with a flat roof and small, high windows, it had been added much later to accommodate the needs of the precinct staff. The bathrooms at the far end of the building were the only ones on the whole site - something that never ceased to amaze Amber, given the number of people that worked at the police department.

The cafeteria food was nothing special. That was unsurprising. It was the same kind of food that was delivered in crates to schools, hospitals, prisons and other institutions throughout the city. A few people had complained about the lack of healthy options available, including Rita, who was a vegetarian, but so far nothing much had changed.

Amber normally brought her own lunch to work, but this morning she'd put down the brown paper bag on her kitchen table so she could retie a shoelace, and had forgotten to pick it up again. It was unlikely that her sandwiches, apple and cereal bar would be waiting for her when she got home. Jason's voracious appetite meant frequent forays into the kitchen in search of snacks, and the unexpected discovery of a ready-made lunch would be too convenient for him to turn down.

_Damn,_ she thought. _I'd better get something to eat while I'm here. I can't wait till I get home._

She took a tray from the stack beside the door and selected a slice of pizza, a portion of wilted-looking salad in a clear plastic box, a banana and a bottle of water from the limited options available. There was a tray of chocolate-chip cookies sitting on the counter too; she wavered, not wanting to submit to temptation, but the smell of freshly baked cookies got the better of her. She took two, deciding to bring one home for Jason, and reached into her pocket for some crumpled bills and loose change.

When the bills disappeared and the pile of coins came back in much smaller denominations, she remembered the other reason why she rarely came to the cafeteria. Still, that was the price she'd have to pay for absent-mindedness…

"Hey, Amber! Over here!"

Alan was waving at her from a table nearby. Jodie and Bob moved over obligingly to make more room as Amber put her tray on the table and sat down.

"Haven't seen you on our side of the building for a while, Amb," Jodie commented. "Chief been keeping you busy in the west office?"

"Yeah, you should see the paperwork he's making me do," said Amber, unscrewing the cap from her water bottle. "You wouldn't believe how much stuff there is on my desk right now. Marvin thinks the files are breeding."

Jodie smiled.

"Bad luck. So how're things? Kevin and David getting anywhere with that case?"

"Not really," said Amber. "You heard about the evidence problem?"

"Yeah, I heard about that," said Alan sympathetically. "Ruth was talking about stepping up the security in the Forensics building. I asked her how and she said she and her husband managed to pick up a safe on her day off yesterday."

Amber's pizza stopped just short of her mouth.

"A safe? Really? Where'd she get that?" she said.

"She got it second-hand from a salvage yard over in Haines," Alan said, making a motion with his fork in the vague direction of the city's industrial district. "Said it was from a security firm that went bust. You should see the size of the thing, it's huge. Took six people to bring it in this morning and two of them are still saying their backs hurt."

Amber silently made a note of this information.

"Wow. How much did that set her back?" asked Bob.

Alan told him. Bob's eyebrows shot up.

"Really? That much? She should have tried my uncle's place across town. She could have got one for about half that. My uncle's yard gets stuff in from all over the county. He's got a whole bunch of old safes sitting in the back of the office."

"Where does he get safes from?" said Jodie. "They're not that easy to find, are they?"

"Hotels, mostly," said Bob. "Then there's places like jewellery stores, antique stores, small businesses. Occasionally he'll get a really old one from a law firm or bank that's upgraded its security. He got one from the purser's office on a cruise ship once. The _Starlight Cruiser,_ or something like that."

There were appreciative nods from the rest of the table.

"I heard you guys had a safe brought down to the east office today," Amber said conversationally. "Where'd you get that from?"

"The STARS office," said Alan. "Someone sent a memo round about equipment movement and Locksley from Police Liaison brought it down to us. He was in a pretty bad mood, too. I thought maybe the STARS weren't too happy about the move, but Redfield and Burton said they're leaving tomorrow anyway and it didn't matter. The Chief must've decided the STARS didn't need it any more and given it to us."

Amber almost choked on her mouthful of pizza.

"The Chief?" she said. "_He_ told Police Liaison to bring you guys the STARS safe? Why didn't he just buy you a new one?"

Alan shrugged.

"No idea. I'm kind of surprised he's done this, to tell you the truth. We've been asking for a safe for the office for over a year now, so I don't know why the Chief's suddenly decided to make it happen. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but what are the STARS going to do with their valuables and stuff when they come back?"

"I don't think they're coming back," said Bob, and he took a sip of the cheap strawberry milkshake on his tray. "I think all the gossip finally got to them. Don't know if you guys heard, but Rebecca Chambers left the other day. She was saying she'd had enough of all the rumours people are spreading and she was going out to India to see her mom and dad."

"Poor little thing," said Jodie, who was finishing off her sandwich. "She was such a sweet kid. Never had a bad word for anybody. The things people were saying about her and the others… I don't know why they have to be so cruel. The STARS do a tough job and they see a lot of traumatic stuff. That cannibal cult business up in the mountains must've been really nasty for them to come back talking about dead people and monsters."

"Yeah, Redfield and Valentine haven't looked the same since," Alan agreed. "People shouldn't be hounding them out of the precinct like this. Sure, they've got some pretty wild stories to tell, but you'd think everybody would be a little more sympathetic. Post-traumatic stress is no laughing matter. My father was stationed out in Nha Trang during the war and he still gets flashbacks."

"Joseph's dad was in Vietnam too," said Amber. "So was a friend of mine. They both say they still have nightmares. Mark's always telling me that war is hell."

"He's probably right," said Alan. "Dad always says the worst scars are the kind you can't see. Let's hope we never have to find out for ourselves, huh?"

"I'll drink to that," said Bob sincerely, raising his milkshake.

The four officers clinked their plastic bottles together in a toast.

"To a peaceful future!" they chorused.

_Let's hope it stays peaceful,_ Amber thought. _Personally, I have my doubts…_

xxxxxxxxxx

At five o'clock, when everyone else in the office was getting up to leave, Amber slipped away from her desk and went upstairs to the STARS office. Chris and Barry weren't leaving until tomorrow night, but with her current workload, she doubted she'd get the chance to see the STARS members tomorrow, and she wanted to say goodbye to them before they left.

She could tell that something was changing, from the minute she walked into the STARS office. Chris and Barry were still in the room, gathering together the few things they needed to take with them, but the office already felt a little colder and emptier, as though the walls sensed their imminent departure.

"I can't believe this is all over," Jill was saying tearfully, from her desk.

"It's not over, Jill," Chris reminded her. "We're not beaten yet. We're leaving so we can stop them from doing any more harm here. They might think they've forced us into a retreat, but that works just fine for us. We'll have the element of surprise and they won't see us coming. All the better for us to hand their asses to them, right?"

Jill shook her head.

"It's not that, Chris," she said. "I _know_ why we're doing this, and it's not because I think we've lost. It's just that – I liked it here. I know it's not the end of STARS, but it's the end of all this. And I liked all this."

Amber understood. "This" meant all the good times the STARS had had here in the precinct, with their friends and colleagues. It meant friendship and camaraderie, jokes and teamwork and happy memories from the office. The STARS weren't beaten, not by a long shot, but their connection to the RPD was dying, and it was understandable that Jill felt the need to grieve.

"I know," said Barry. "I liked it here too. But staying here won't do us any good. There's not much more we can do for Raccoon City until we take out this Nemesis project and whatever else they've got brewing in Europe."

"Yeah," said Jill. "We have to say goodbye if we're going to survive this. And I know we can always start over somewhere else. But…"

Amber squeezed Jill's shoulder.

"But you're going to miss things here, when you go," she finished. "I know. We're going to miss you guys too. We had some fun here, didn't we?"

"Yeah," said Jill, and she wiped a tear from the corner of one eye. "Yeah, we did, didn't we…"

Chris picked up the cardboard box from his desk.

"Well, that's it," he announced. "We're ready to go."

"But you left your diary, and your guitar, and your CDs," said Amber, with a frown. "And your jacket, the one Claire gave you… aren't you going to take those?"

"I've got another jacket the same as that one," said Chris, shrugging, "and that other stuff doesn't really matter. I can come back for it some other time. I'm sure you and Jill can keep an eye on it for me till I get back, right?"

Jill nodded.

"Sure I will, Chris. You got everything you need?"

"Uh-huh," said Chris. "Got my gun, got my badge, got my uniform and my police kit. I don't need anything else."

Amber waved an envelope.

"How about plane tickets?" she said. "Those might come in handy."

Chris suddenly looked flustered.

"Oh yeah! Thanks, Amber. We won't get far without those."

"Damn straight you won't," said Amber. "You got your passport too?"

"Yeah, I've got it," said Chris, taking the envelope from her hand. "We're good to go."

"Then I think it's time for us to say goodbye," said Barry.

He gripped Jill in a powerful bear-hug that almost lifted her right up off the floor, and Jill returned the gesture as best she could whilst having her ribcage slowly crushed.

"We're gonna miss you, Jill," he said fondly. "Don't know how we'll manage without our Master of Unlocking to help us out. Just take care of yourself back here, okay?"

"I will," Jill promised. "Don't worry. I'll come after you and Chris as soon as I can. I just want to dig up as much on the G-Virus as possible, so I know what we could be coming home to."

"Good girl. I'll leave you a contact number. Tell us if you find anything."

Chris was up next.

"Bye, Jill," he said, hugging her rather more gently than Barry had done. "You look after yourself while we're gone. Don't let that bullshit merchant of a Chief push you around, okay?"

Jill gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Stay safe, Chris," she told him. "Don't be any more of a hero than you have to be."

Not for the first time, Chris looked puzzled.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean no macho posturing, no pointless acts of heroism, no shouting "is that all you've got?" at Umbrella's bioweapons, and no getting yourself killed out there," said Jill. "Just stay alive, get the job done, and don't show off during a fight. Being decapitated doesn't impress the girls."

"Don't worry, Jill, I'll keep an eye on him," Barry assured her. "He won't get into any trouble on my watch."

He turned to Amber.

"Well, Amber, this is it. Thanks for all your help, kiddo. You've been a good friend when we needed one. I hope we can return the favour someday."

Amber suddenly found herself in the same crushing embrace that had nearly cost Jill a few ribs. She hugged back, and smiled; Barry reminded her a little of her father, a powerfully-built man with a grip of steel and a heart of gold. He'd retired from the construction industry two years ago, but he was still strong and too proud to admit that age was starting to slow him down. Dad hugged her just like this whenever she came home to visit, and now that she thought about it, her last visit to her parents had been a while ago. She'd have to go home and see them again soon.

Barry released his grip on her.

"Now take care of yourself and your family, and don't let the Chief kick your ass at this hearing of yours," he told her, and patted her on the shoulder. "You'll come through this, I know you will."

"Thanks, Barry," said Amber. "Good luck with your mission. I hope everything goes well in Europe."

"So do I, kiddo. We'll keep in touch. Look after Jill for us."

Amber glanced over her shoulder at Jill, who looked less than impressed by this remark.

"Not that I think Jill needs looking after, of course," Barry added, noticing that he might have put his foot in it, "but make sure she doesn't kill anybody. We don't want the Chief going home with a dart in his head for real."

Jill's laughter broke the tension.

"Don't worry, Barry," she said. "I won't kill anybody unless they take a shot at me first. And Amber and I always watch each other's backs. Right, Amb?"

"Right," Amber agreed.

Barry looked relieved.

"Good to know. Make sure you do."

It was Chris' turn to say goodbye. He turned to face Amber, and smiled awkwardly.

"Bye, Amber," he said. "You take care, okay? Tell your brother I said hi."

Amber looked at him for a moment, wondering how to return the pleasantry. Chris could be a thoughtless, impulsive idiot on occasions, and he was totally useless as far as interpersonal relationships were concerned, but… well, she had to admit that he wasn't a bad guy. Not really. He may have been dumb, and he may have screwed things up so badly with her best friend that she and Jill had barely spoken to him for weeks afterwards, but in spite of all the petty arguments, Chris was still her friend. This realisation annoyed her a little bit - it was like shouting at a puppy for ignoring its toilet training and relieving itself on the carpet, and being given one of those guilt-inducingly mournful looks in return - but she knew, at the same time, that the situation in the city was going from very bad to much worse, and allies were already thin on the ground. This was no time to harbour pointless resentment.

_What the hell,_ she thought, giving up. _If he doesn't come back from this mission then I know I'll regret all those times I was mean to him. Might as well bury the hatchet while I've still got the chance._

She stepped forward and hugged him.

"Good luck, Chris," she told him. "Stay safe and come home in one piece, okay? And don't forget to send me a postcard from Europe."

Chris looked surprised by the gesture, but after a moment's stunned silence, he smiled and returned the hug.

"I'll send you one every time we take out an Umbrella facility," he said. "How's that sound to you?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

Chris looked satisfied with this.

"Okay then," he said, letting her go. "We'd better get going. Bye, girls."

Amber waved goodbye. Jill, looking very forlorn, did the same, adding a quiet "Bye for now," as Chris and Barry filed out of the room.

With one last wave, Barry pulled the office door closed behind him. Jill looked as though she wanted to fold up and cry, but her resolve did her proud. She tightened her lips and breathed in, then said:

"Well, I guess that's it. It's just me now."

"Just us," Amber corrected.

"Yeah," said Jill, pausing to register the correction. "You're right. Just the two of us. The only two people in the entire precinct still willing to stand up and fight Umbrella. Not much of an opposing force, is it?"

"No," said Amber reluctantly. "No, it's not."

Jill sat down at her desk.

"I've found a safe place for your evidence," she said, after a moment. "Ruth told me she brought a new safe into the Forensics department this morning. I've given her the evidence so she can lock it away. She's the only one who knows the combination, so it shouldn't be disturbed."

"Thanks," said Amber. "I'm glad it's somewhere safe."

"Me too. It's a little more weight off my mind. And - "

There was a thunderous knocking at the door, and Jill broke off.

"Who is it?" she called.

"_It's Chief Irons! I want to talk to you, Valentine!_"

Jill and Amber looked at each other, their eyes widening simultaneously.

"Shit!" hissed Jill. "Amber, you'd better hide! Quick!"

"Where?"

Jill's head swivelled towards Wesker's old desk, and then to the opposite end of the room. An idea seemed to strike her.

"Under Rebecca's desk! Hurry!" she urged.

Amber wasted no time in getting to the other side of the room. She dived underneath Rebecca's vacant desk, tucking her arms and legs in at her sides and huddling into the darkest corner she could find. As the pounding on the door started again, Jill hastily piled some cardboard boxes in front of the desk, concealing her friend from view.

"Hold on, Chief, I'll be right there!" she shouted. "Just - just tidying up a little!"

She bent down, mouthed "Keep quiet, and don't move!", then hurried to the door. Amber flattened herself against the floor, peering through the gap beneath the bottom of the desk to see what was going on.

She saw the door open as the Chief marched into the room. She could only see his legs and feet, but the harrumphing from somewhere above them gave the impression that he wasn't too happy about being kept waiting.

"Doesn't look very tidy in here," he was saying, with more than a little suspicion in his voice. "What are you up to, Valentine?"

"Nothing, Chief," Jill replied. "Hey, I can't exactly do much now I'm all by myself."

"So Burton and Redfield are gone?" said the Chief.

He sounded quite pleased by the news, thought Amber. Well, he would be. There were two less thorns in his side; two fewer people to get in the way of whatever he was he thought he was trying to accomplish by barring the STARS survivors' investigation.

"Yes, sir. You just missed them," Jill answered stiffly.

"Pity," said the Chief, without a trace of sincerity that Amber could detect. "I was hoping to wish them well before they left."

She heard Jill snort.

"I'm sure you were, sir. But they're gone now."

There was a long pause, and then the Chief said, in a soft and dangerous voice:

"Yes. It's just you now, isn't it, Valentine?"

_Oh no,_ thought Amber. _I know that tone of voice. Well if he tries anything on Jill then he'd better watch out, because if I don't get to him first then he'll go home in a jar…_

Jill didn't sound worried. On the contrary, her right foot was tapping on the floor. Amber, whose lifelong friendship with the woman had acquainted her with most of Jill's mannerisms, was pretty sure that she would be looking at her watch too. She always did that when someone seemed loath to hurry up and spit out their half of the conversation.

"Chief, this isn't a good time," Jill said at last. "If you've got something you need to discuss with me, then go ahead and discuss it. I'm listening. If not, will you please quit wasting my time? It's five fifteen. I want to go home."

"Of course," said Chief Irons. "I understand. You're a busy woman, Valentine. All that work to do. I'm sure you want to get home and attend to more personal matters. Feeding your cat, and so forth."

Amber heard Jill draw in her breath.

"How do you know I have a cat?" she said. "I never told you anything about having pets…"

"I'm the Chief of Police, Valentine," said Irons, and he gave a little chuckle. "I make a point of taking an interest in my employees and their families."

"I'm sure you do," said Jill angrily. "And how do you do that, exactly? Look in through people's windows? Spy on them? It's called a private life for a _reason_, Chief! What I do at home is none of your business!"

"Of course not," said Irons, and his manner swiftly changed; now he sounded more conciliatory, almost contrite. "I do apologise. No offence was intended. I just heard you had a pet cat and thought I'd ask after its health."

"My cat is fine, Chief," said Jill, adding nastily, "_thanks for asking_."

"I'm very glad to hear it," said Chief Irons. "Well, I was hoping to have a more in-depth discussion about the future of the precinct's STARS unit, given that you're the only one left, but if you're on your way home, then please don't let me detain you."

Amber saw him turn on his heel and take a few steps towards the door, but before she could breathe out, he stopped, to add:

"Do take care of that cat of yours, by the way. With all those cannibal murderers and maniacs supposedly on the loose in the city, it would be a great shame if anything were to happen to dear Mr Kibbles."

"You leave Mr Kibbles out of this," Jill warned him, taking a step forwards. "You can threaten me all you want, I don't care, but if you so much as _look _at my cat the wrong way - !"

"Valentine, your cat will be fine," Chief Irons interrupted. "I'm sure that nothing bad will happen to him, as long as you're careful."

"Careful to keep out of Umbrella's way, you mean?" said Jill sardonically.

"All I'm saying is that it's not advisable to get mixed up in things you don't understand," said Irons, in clipped, disapproving tones.

"Oh, I understand only too well," said Jill, her voice now a low growl of anger.

"I don't think you do, Valentine," said Chief Irons. "If you understood, you'd know better than to meddle in commercial matters. You don't belong in the world of corporate business."

"And you do?" was Jill's retort.

"That," said Chief Irons, very coldly, "is neither here nor there. Now, about the STARS…"

"What about them?" said Jill. The hostility in her voice was plain to hear, although Amber wondered if the Chief had noticed just how angry he was making her. Surely he'd noticed. He must have noticed. He'd have had to be completely stupid to have missed it, when there was practically ice on every syllable.

"What about _you_?" Irons corrected her. "There's only one STARS member stationed at this precinct now, and that's you. I hardly think that a team of one is going to be much use to this city. We certainly can't afford to waste police resources maintaining a helicopter for your sole use when, as you said, there's so little you can do here all on your own."

Wait a moment. He was doing this on purpose, wasn't he? Goading the last remaining STARS member until she finally snapped and lashed out, so he could have the excuse he needed to fire her!

Amber clenched her teeth to keep the fury in. She already hated the man for his manipulative bullying, arrogance and his particularly unpleasant habit of sexually harassing his female staff - not to mention the corrosive influence of Umbrella on his professional conduct - but singling out Jill and trying to force her out of the precinct when she was at her most vulnerable was beyond despicable.

"So this is your way of getting rid of me, is it?" said Jill, who sounded no less disgusted.

Amber heard the telltale little sound of a smirk.

"Hm. That depends, Valentine," the Chief said, and he moved towards Jill again. "That depends entirely on you. The STARS unit will have to be discontinued, of course. But perhaps you can still be of service here at the precinct. I'm sure an intelligent, resourceful woman of your experience can find plenty of ways to make herself useful…"

She didn't know what he'd just done, but Jill gave an outraged yelp and pushed him away. Chief Irons responded immediately by grabbing her and pinning her against the wall between the desks.

"For instance," said Irons softly, "there's a position on the secretarial staff. After Irene's sudden departure, of course. So sad, the way she had to leave us so soon after taking up her post. Now that she's gone, I'll be needing another personal assistant. Perhaps that's a niche you could fill…"

Amber shuddered silently beneath the desk as she saw him grip Jill's thigh.

"Take your hands off me, you pervert!" Jill snapped, and pushed him away again. "I don't have to put up with this, and you know it! Now back off!"

"Yes," continued the Chief, with a leer that Amber was grateful she couldn't see, "there are certainly plenty of niches to be filled around here. In fact, I can think of several positions you could occupy…"

"I said _get off me_, you son of a bitch!" Jill screamed, snatching something from the edge of her desk, but the Chief grabbed her wrist and twisted it sharply as she brought her arm up. She heard Jill yell; seconds later, a survival knife clattered to the floor and skittered underneath Chris' desk.

"Your flexibility would make you suitable for any position, you know," Chief Irons grunted, as Jill tried to struggle free of his grasp. "It's just a matter of _willingness_…"

Jill fought back, harder this time, but the Chief's bulk and his superior strength were on his side and he wasn't making it easy for her to break free. Amber wanted to scream at the Chief to leave her friend alone - but how could she, when Jill had told her to stay hidden? How could she help the STARS and fight on behalf of the Roves and everyone else in Raccoon City if she revealed herself now and got fired?

_Oh God, what am I going to do…?_

"Don't worry, Valentine," said the Chief, snickering as he saw the look on Jill's face. "Your career isn't over. I'll be more than happy to find a good use for you and keep you motivated in your new role!"

Jill snarled and lashed out again, digging her fingernails into his face, driving her knee up into his stomach and trying to push her fists into his throat as he tried to paw at her shirt.

With a bark of rage, Chief Irons retaliated. The sound of the slap ricocheted around the room like a gunshot, and Amber winced. This had gone way too far. There was no way she could let her best friend come to harm when this ugly situation was unfolding less than three feet away from her. There was nothing for it. She'd have to come out of hiding and help Jill to escape from the Chief's evil clutches.

_Well, if my career in the police force has to end today, then I might as well go out in style…_

Amber crawled out from under the desk and grabbed Rebecca's chair, picking it up. The Chief hadn't seen her yet; he was busy trying to subdue Jill, who was still putting up a surprisingly vicious fight and refusing to give in. Good. All she had to do now was sneak up behind him and bring the chair crashing down onto his fat, ugly head, and his reign of terror over the STARS members would be over.

But as she prepared to creep across the floor and rise up against the Chief, there was a knock at the door. Amber immediately put down Rebecca's chair and dived for cover beneath the desk as the door swung open.

"Hey, Chief," came Kevin's voice. "Sorry to interrupt you, but I - "

Amber risked a quick peek over the edge of Rebecca's desk and saw Kevin peering around the door.

The Chief turned round furiously, releasing Jill.

"What do you want, Ryman?" he bellowed at the younger man.

Kevin looked taken aback as he saw Jill fall back into the pile of junk near Chris' desk, knocking over the guitar. Looking frightened and dishevelled, she mouthed the words:

"Help me out here…"

Amber remembered, all of a sudden, that she was out in the open again. She ducked back down quickly, tucking her head under the desk.

"Uh," she heard Kevin say. "Sorry, Chief. Someone told me you'd come to say goodbye to the STARS guys and I thought I'd better find you before you left for the day. Look, I, uh… I really need to talk to you about the parking situation at the precinct. The other guys have been complaining about the parking lot downstairs."

"What's the problem?" said the Chief impatiently.

"It's always full, Chief, that's the problem," Kevin answered, in all earnestness. "Nobody can get anywhere near a parking space if they show up after seven-thirty."

"So what?" Chief Irons snapped. "That's not my problem."

"Well, it kind of is," said Kevin, looking uncomfortable. "Everyone's started parking in the streets around the precinct, and the guys at the bookstore and the art gallery are complaining because there's no room for their delivery trucks to unload stuff. They asked what we're going to do about it and they said if they don't get an answer from me and Officer Ryan by tomorrow morning, they're going to complain to City Hall. Can you come downstairs and help us figure out what we're going to tell them?"

Chief Irons hesitated. Amber couldn't see him any more, but she could imagine his beady little eyes flickering from Jill to the door, and then back to Kevin. Amber closed her eyes tight and willed him to leave.

"All right," he agreed reluctantly, and she heard him head towards the door. "Where's Ryan now?"

"Well, he's…"

The door closed. Amber waited until the men's footsteps had faded and she was free to emerge, then she climbed out from under the desk. She saw Jill still sitting in the corner where she'd fallen. Her face was frozen in an expression of shock.

"Jill," Amber gasped. She rushed over to her friend's side. "Oh God, I thought he was going to - are you all right?"

"Son of a bitch!" Jill screamed, jumping up unexpectedly and opening the office door so she could shout down the empty corridor after him. "You son of a bitch! You'd better hope the next woman you try and force yourself on kills you first, because the next time I see you, you're dead! You hear me? Dead!"

She slammed the door, but as she leaned against it, she caught sight of the dartboard to her right, with its battered, hole-riddled photograph of the Chief stuck to the middle. Catching sight of that smug face, she flew into a rage again; with a savage cry more suited to a Viking warrior than a police officer, she grabbed a dart from the edge of the board and started stabbing the Chief's picture, driving the point into his face and torso like a dagger.

"You… son of a… bitch… goddamn… son of a _bitch_…!" she was hollering, hoarse with the effort but far too angry to care. "I hate you, I _hate _you, damn it, I _hate _you! I hate you! Damn you to hell!"

Panting with the effort of exacting vengeance on the Chief's picture, Jill drove the dart into his heart one last time.

"Take that, asshole!" she shrieked. "I know you're in Umbrella's pockets and I'm going to prove it! You'll get yours, you bastard! I'll destroy you the same way you destroyed STARS…!"

She slumped, exhausted, against the wall. Amber went over to talk to her, but although she couldn't think of anything to say, it didn't matter. Jill fell gratefully into her friend's arms and stayed there without a single word.

Still hugging Jill protectively, Amber looked up at the dartboard and saw that Jill had attacked it with such ferocity that she'd not only gouged holes out of the Chief's picture, but the board behind it too. She noted, on the second glance upwards, that there were two particularly large holes where the man's eyes should have been, giving him a soulless, almost demonic look. It seemed fitting that the true nature of Chief Irons was reflected in his photograph for all to see, now that the monster within the man had been exposed by acts of violence.

"I think you need a new dartboard," she commented.

"No wonder this city's going to hell in a handcart," muttered Jill, into her shoulder. "We've got a goddamn sex offender running this place…"

"No kidding," said Amber, and she turned away from the shredded picture, letting her arms fall to her sides. "I just hope he doesn't believe in voodoo, that's all."

"Doubt it," said Jill, straightening up again. "He doesn't care about anything involving zombies, remember?"

"Then he's had a lucky escape," said Amber, with a feeble grin.

"I'll say he has," said Jill sharply. "If Kevin hadn't shown up and got him out of here, I would have had to break his neck, and then I'd be in real trouble. Severing your boss' spinal column doesn't look good on your resumé."

"I was about to run over and smash a chair over his head," admitted Amber.

"I'm glad you didn't," said Jill, though she looked slightly cheered by this thought. "The precinct can't afford to lose the one sane person who still believes us. Besides, think of the paperwork."

She looked up at the dartboard.

"You know, I never realised he was so strong," she said, shivering. "I thought I could have taken his fat ass down with one hand behind my back. He's just full of nasty surprises, isn't he?"

"You sure you're all right?" said Amber.

"Oh, I'm fine," said Jill, more breezily this time. "I was just waiting for him to get careless and think he'd got it all his own way before I turned the tables and beat the shit out of him. I'm a STARS girl, remember? We can always find a way to get ourselves out of trouble."

"Then why were you asking Kevin for help?" said Amber, unconvinced.

Jill smiled wanly.

"So he knew I was _in_ trouble and he could help me out of it again by distracting the guy. Hey, I'm not too proud to ask for help when I'm in a fix. The alternative was having to break free on my own and knock ten kinds of hell out of the Chief, and God knows he wasn't making that easy."

"You mean you weren't really in danger?"

"No," said Jill, pausing for thought. "No, I wouldn't say that. I was in danger all right. But if you mean was it the kind of danger I couldn't get out of, then no. It would have taken me a while, and it would have been one hell of a struggle, but I wouldn't have let him hurt me."

She crawled under Chris' desk to retrieve her survival knife. She emerged again and stood up, then dropped the knife back onto her desk and brushed the dust off her knees.

"You were right about him, Amber," she said. "He's a menace to every woman in this precinct. If he comes anywhere near me again, he's getting a face full of pepper spray, and that's that. Just wish I'd brought my Taser with me this morning, that would have made my life a whole lot easier."

She picked up the knife again and sheathed it, then tucked it into her belt.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here before the Chief comes looking for us. I think we've had enough trouble for one day."

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Night fell on the precinct, and the rooms and corridors of the RPD grew steadily quieter and emptier as its staff went home for the evening, with only a brief upsurge in activity as the few officers working the Sunday night shift arrived and reported for duty. Though the lights in the corridors and high-traffic areas of the station continued to blaze, others were extinguished as the last members of the day shift left their offices, leaving the rooms dark until morning.

Unknown to those conscientious men and women, however, darkness of an altogether different kind was gathering within the walls of a locked room in the precinct's east wing…

"Of all the incompetence," a blond-haired man muttered, as he pored over the documents that had been spread across the Chief's desk. "How could this have happened?"

"I'm sure Miss Truman would be happy to tell us," said the second man, smiling. He was older than his companion, middle-aged, with greying hair, designer glasses and a supremely confident demeanour. "Please, Miss Truman, explain to us how this evidence came to vanish from right beneath your nose."

The young woman tied tightly to one of the chairs had long since given up trying to scream for help through her gag, and was sobbing silently. Her long blonde hair was dishevelled, matted with tears and running mascara. She yelped as the man removed the duct tape from her mouth, and cried out:

"It wasn't my fault, sir! Please, I - I didn't know she'd taken anything! She told me she was investigating an incident and Dr Hartley had called her in! I was calling her office to check when she knocked the post off the desk, b-but I thought it was an accident! How was I to know she'd stolen something from the pile? You don't expect a police officer to show up, ask about some incident and then steal stuff from your desk! She even gave me a lecture about wasting police time!"

Chief Irons was sitting behind his desk, but unlike the middle-aged man, he wasn't listening to the woman's terrified protestations of innocence. Instead, he was examining the documents, going through some papers while the blond man standing on the other side examined a stack of surveillance photos. They showed various angles of the Umbrella building's lobby, and were stamped with the date "08/17/98" and a time in the late afternoon.

"Here," said the blond man suddenly. "Here she is. Look at these, Irons."

He passed a few of the photographs across the desk. Chief Irons thumbed through them, and frowned. A familiar-looking cop with strawberry-blonde curls was standing near the reception desk, looking directly up at the security camera. There she was again, glancing over her shoulder. And again, looking uneasily at the main doors, as though she expected trouble. A fourth picture showed her kneeling on the floor, picking up the scattered items of post she'd just knocked off the reception desk. This picture was more difficult to make out, as the camera angle mostly showed the top of the reception desk and the back of the receptionist's head, but if you looked closely at the policewoman's hunched figure, you could just about see a telltale glimpse of brown envelope poking out from beneath her shirt.

"Bernstein," he growled. "You interfering bitch…"

The blond man looked up quickly. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked tired, but suspicion seemed to have brought a tinge of colour back into his pallid cheeks.

"You've identified the woman?" he said, his pale eyes narrowing. "Who is she?"

"Lieutenant Amber Bernstein," said Chief Irons, and he dropped the photos back on the desk. "Bernstein is - _was _ - one of my best officers. Unfortunately, her friendship with Valentine and the other STARS members has become a problem. She's the only person in the precinct who believes their story, but that doesn't seem to have dissuaded her from trying to assist them in their investigation. I've warned her repeatedly about the consequences of interfering in Umbrella's business, but she appears to think that she knows better. She was the one who tried to prevent the assassination of Bethany Rove by your agents."

The blond man scowled.

"And exactly how do you intend to stop her from destroying everything? The Rove incident was bad enough, and we were fortunate that our agents were able to retrieve the photographs of the Springvale site before your officers did. You're getting careless, Irons. I don't know how this Bernstein woman found out that you intercepted the evidence and brought it to us, but you have to be more careful. Umbrella will not tolerate any more mistakes from you."

The Chief's face flushed angrily.

"I'm doing the best I can, Birkin!"

"Then do better," came the curt reply. "Get rid of this wretched woman before she can cause any more trouble. If Umbrella is shown to be responsible for Bethany Rove's death, people are going to start asking some very inconvenient questions about the circumstances surrounding that incident. You cannot and must not allow Bernstein to expose us, _or_ you! If we're found out, it's all over! Do you understand?"

"Bernstein is already facing a disciplinary hearing," said Chief Irons. "That should give me the excuse I need to get rid of her. By the end of September - "

"By the end of September, it could already be too late," Birkin interrupted. "I want her dealt with _now_, Irons. Some of our staff have already reported seeing a group of individuals snooping around the sewers. STARS and Bernstein cannot be allowed to uncover the existence of the G-Virus…"

"Or the Lucifer Project," the middle-aged man cut in.

"Or that," Birkin added, rather grudgingly. "Umbrella's secrets must remain secret, Irons. If they don't, then we will hold you personally responsible for that failure. And I'm sure you don't need me to tell you what the price of failure will be."

Trembling with indignant rage and not a little anxiety, the Chief nodded. Birkin picked up the photographs again and studied them closely.

"So how are we going to deal with Officer Bernstein?" he said out loud.

"Very carefully," came the middle-aged man's voice from across the room. "We still don't know how much she really knows about Umbrella and what she merely suspects. We need to know exactly what she's able to prove before we can decide whether she's a threat to us or not. Right now our top priority is to find and recover the evidence she stole from us."

"Dr Hazlitt," said Birkin, turning to face the man, "if she suspects anything, she already knows too much. We have to eliminate her before she can assemble any proof."

"Now don't be too hasty, William," the older man warned him. "I know Umbrella is more than capable of making people disappear, but from what I've been led to understand, Bernstein is a popular and well-known member of this police force. Her sudden disappearance will make her colleagues start asking questions about what might have happened to her. If they put two and two together and start wondering if perhaps she vanished because she believed the STARS' tales of what happened in the forest, we'll have a real problem on our hands. No, the fewer bodies we have to deal with, the better. It is in our best interests that Bernstein simply cannot find any evidence connecting us with recent events, and that her wild, impossible allegations are not believed. Discrediting her and ensuring that she is dismissed in disgrace from her position will serve Umbrella's interests far better than having her eliminated."

Birkin fiddled nervously with the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Then we need to find some other way to dissuade her from continuing her investigation," he said. "Even if nobody believes her, she still needs to be taught a lesson. We have to find another way to convince her that meddling in Umbrella's affairs isn't worth the risk. What if she joins forces with the STARS after she leaves the police?"

"The STARS are weak," said Dr Hazlitt calmly. "They're no threat to us. Two of the surviving members have already handed in their resignations and the other three will be parting company very shortly. However, I do see your point, Dr Birkin. If Bernstein isn't stopped now, it will be harder to prevent her from making an independent investigation into our activities, and her concerned friends and family would be sure to start asking questions if anything unfortunate were to happen to her."

He smiled.

"I think I know of a way to convince her that following our trail simply isn't worth the risk. An unlikely tale that nobody would believe, even if she were to complain. I'll speak to our Head of Research and make some arrangements."

"All right," said Birkin. "Now, what are we going to do about _her_?"

He nodded towards the blonde receptionist, who was still weeping in the chair to which she was bound.

Dr Hazlitt looked down at the woman.

"Well, now, that's an interesting question," he said. "What _are _we going to do with you, Melissa? I realise that we've been quite indiscreet by discussing confidential matters in front of you, and in the light of your incompetence, I'm not sure we can trust you to keep quiet. Letting someone walk in off the street and steal important items from our head office by allowing yourself to be distracted is, I'm sorry to say, an unpardonable error. We expect better from our receptionists at Umbrella. Our staff must be able to handle confidential information and deal with it in an efficient and secure manner, but you've proven to us that this simple task is beyond your ability. And if you can't live up to our high standards, then… well, we're just going to have to let you go."

The receptionist nodded tearfully.

"I understand," she said. "I'm fired, right?"

Dr Hazlitt laughed.

"No, no. You're not fired. Having heard what you've heard, I'm sure you've come to realise that failing Umbrella so gravely by letting one of its enemies obtain top-secret information is unforgivable. Did you really think that you'd get off so lightly? That there would be no punishment? I'm sorry, my dear, but no. Your stupidity and carelessness are nothing short of criminal. And we like to leave criminal matters in the capable hands of the Chief of Police."

A slow smile crept across Chief Irons' face, and he rose from his seat.

"I think I'll take her downstairs," he said, studying the look of horror on the young woman's face, as though her expression was some rare natural specimen worthy of closer academic study. "She'll make a very nice addition to my private trophy collection..."

The receptionist's eyes opened wide.

"What?" she gasped. "Tr-trophy collection? Surely you don't mean - "

She looked around the room, taking in the stuffed animals, then she gave a little cry and tried to struggle free of the chair, straining at her bonds. Chief Irons watched her feeble attempts to escape with something like amusement for a moment or two, then he untied her and grabbed her by the wrists, dragging her towards his desk. He reached up to the picture hanging behind his desk and moved it to one side. The other two men heard a click as he pressed something on the panel hidden behind it, and then a section of wall slid quietly aside to reveal an elevator.

"Do as you wish, Irons," said Dr Hazlitt. "Just make sure you don't fail us again."

The Chief nodded, and began to drag the hysterical receptionist towards the elevator. Hazlitt and Birkin stood and watched them go, listening dispassionately to the young woman's cries for help, then they turned their backs and unlocked the office door.

"Lock the door behind you," the Chief ordered, bundling the woman into the elevator.

The two men nodded and left the room. Dr Hazlitt paused briefly to pull a key out from his pocket and lock the office door, then he smiled.

"Well, that's that taken care of, Dr Birkin," he said, handing the key back to the younger man. "Thank you for accompanying me here this evening. I hate to disturb you so late at night, but as you serve as our unofficial liaison to the Chief of Police, I felt that you ought to be present at our little meeting."

"Not a problem, sir," said Birkin, rubbing his eyes.

"Dear me, William, you look tired," remarked Dr Hazlitt. "Please, don't let me detain you any further. I'm sure you're anxious to go home to your family and get some rest after all your hard work today."

Birkin shook his head.

"No, I'm fine," he said. "I'm going back to the laboratory. The G-Virus needs my attention. There's still much more research that needs to be done…"

"Very well," said Dr Hazlitt, with a shrug. "You're more than welcome to continue your work, should you so desire. But don't forget, Umbrella will soon need samples of the G-Virus from you. Mr Spencer personally requested the incorporation of your project into our viral research programme. He has high hopes of both the G-Virus and the L-Virus, as well as the development of the T-Nemesis strain in our European facilities. Together with the T-Virus, the G, Nemesis and Lucifer Projects will be sure to - "

"The G-Virus is mine," muttered Birkin. "Umbrella's not going to do to me what it did to Dr Marcus. His creation was stolen from him so that others could take the credit for his work. I should know. Wesker and I personally oversaw his assassination after we were ordered to take control of the T-Virus research."

"My dear William, the reason we eliminated Dr Marcus was because he was insane - completely out of control," said Dr Hazlitt, putting an arm around the younger man's shoulders as they walked back down the corridor. "After all the millions of dollars of investment we gave him so that he could pursue his life's work, he was refusing to allow anyone else access to his research and hampering everyone else's progress. His selfishness would have undone Umbrella. After all, without the T-Virus, there would be no BOW programme, and where would we be without that, hmm?"

He gave a light chuckle. Dr Birkin didn't join in; he still looked wary and resentful, even suspicious of the other man.

"Providing you don't follow his sorry example, William, you have nothing to fear," Dr Hazlitt assured him. "Everybody knows that the G-Virus is your creation. That won't be stolen from you, but in return for the funding and facilities that Umbrella has allocated for your research, we require that you allow us to access your files and use the G-Virus to develop the next generation of bioweapons."

Birkin shook his head.

"No," he said. "You already took the L-Virus from Hartley and Morton and _warped_ the beauty of their creation by incorporating it into the Lucifer Project. The L-Virus was never intended to be used as a bioweapon. Jonathan and Alistair intended it to be a boon to mankind. A regenerative agent capable of enhancing life and overcoming death. Now you're ruining their work by letting others meddle with it! I don't want that to happen to my precious G-Virus. I've worked too long and too hard to let others undo my work and destroy all that I've set out to accomplish!"

"Now William - " began Dr Hazlitt.

"Don't you "now William" me, Hazlitt!" Birkin snapped, and he shook off the older man's arm. "You can't have it! Not unless you promise not to change a thing! The G-Virus mustn't be altered in any way!"

"You know I can't promise that, Birkin," said Dr Hazlitt, sighing.

"Then Umbrella will never have the G-Virus," said Birkin shortly. "My request was not unreasonable. I refuse to allow lesser minds than mine to tamper foolishly with something whose beauty and power they cannot possibly understand! Either the G-Virus stays perfect in my hands, or I'll leave Umbrella and take it with me. I will not tolerate the mutilation of the G-Virus by a bunch of untutored fools who will never understand its true potential!"

He stormed off, leaving Dr Hazlitt standing alone in the corridor outside the Chief's office.

"Have it your way, Dr Birkin," said the man quietly, as he watched him go. "But you can't keep your work from us forever. You knew this day would come, and if you don't keep your end of the bargain, then you'll pay the price for your recalcitrance. Umbrella does not tolerate disloyalty in its ranks."

Dr Hazlitt started to walk off, then paused, with one foot halfway to the floor. Was that a scream he'd heard, somewhere far beneath his feet?

He smiled humourlessly. It sounded as though Chief Irons was having fun. The Chief was a strange and sadistic man, with some truly odd predilections, but he was useful to have around. Umbrella always found a use for people like Irons, although he couldn't say he was entirely comfortable with such a weak-willed man holding a position of power in the city. It had been so easy to lead him astray with a few briefcases full of cash and the promise of more privileges to come, and the man's mental instability occasionally bothered him. What would happen if he were to suddenly snap and inadvertently draw attention to the influence that Umbrella exerted over him by doing something ill-advised? Could his favours be bought by someone with a bigger briefcase full of cash than the Umbrella corporation, if indeed such a person or organisation existed?

Dr Hazlitt shook his head, and walked away, leaving a deadly silence in his wake. He just had to hope that the Chief was capable of the things they'd asked him to do in Umbrella's name.

As for Bernstein… well, she'd find out soon enough that it wasn't prudent to stand between Umbrella and its goals. And if she didn't listen this time, or tried to show the world whatever definitive proof she had that Umbrella was responsible for countless acts of death and destruction, then he'd have to make alternative arrangements and see to it that she and the STARS were removed from the picture for good…


	16. Sleepwalking

**16: Sleepwalking**

**Monday 24th August, 1998**

Amber didn't know what time it was, but she didn't care. Why would she worry about something like that when she was in this beautiful place? She looked back at her point of arrival, then wandered on through the trees, free of tension and boundaries, looking up at the brief, blue patches of sky and feeling the sunlight fall onto her head and shoulders.

The scent of flowers was everywhere. She closed her eyes, breathed it in, then opened her eyes again and saw the sea of colour stretching through the trees, all the way to the horizon. She smiled. There were always flowers here. The pattern of colours and shapes changed with each visit, but somehow they never seemed to fade or move with the seasons.

There was a large flowering shrub standing in her way, thick with clusters of brilliant red flowers and humming with butterflies. The butterflies erupted from the bush in clouds as she disturbed the branches, and Amber felt herself laugh as she pushed her way through the greenery. Her worries were still there - small, dark, shadowy things which perched constantly at the back of her mind and sneered at her attempts to shoo them away - but they were forgotten in an instant when she stumbled through to the other side and saw the man standing in the clearing.

As he turned and smiled at the sight of her, Amber realised that her troubles didn't matter any more. Nothing mattered, save for the fact that he was there, so handsome in his STARS uniform and his lucky red bandanna, filling the void he'd left in her world.

"Joseph!" she squealed, flinging herself into his arms and hugging him tightly around the middle. "I can't believe it, you're here…!"

"Hey Ambie," said Joseph fondly, hugging her in return. "How're you doing, baby?"

"Not so great," she murmured into his shoulder. "I miss you, Joe."

"I know, baby," he told her. "I miss you too."

Amber broke away so she could look at him. He was beaming from ear to ear, looking as delighted to see her as she was to see him again. There were questions filling her mind, so many of them that they were threatening to spill out of her ears, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the first one that stumbled out was:

"Did it hurt…?"

"Yeah, it hurt, but it was over pretty fast," said Joseph, apparently unconcerned by the memory. "I'm okay now. See? Not a scratch on me."

Amber could see him, a little indistinctly, giving her the thumbs-up and a brave smile. No cuts or bruises; no scratches; no sign of injury that she could see. He'd been torn to pieces by zombie dogs, but now he was standing here in this peaceful, sunlit place, untouched by fear and pain. Only a wistful look in his eyes reminded her of the distance that death had created between them.

"I'm glad you're okay now," she said, and for a moment the words choked her. She knew the truth, even if she couldn't let herself admit it. "I'm - I'm glad it doesn't hurt any more."

"I'm fine, baby," said Joseph, smiling again. "Don't you worry about me. Nothing's going to hurt me here. I just wish you could stay, that's all. You'd like it here. It's pretty. Lots of trees and flowers, and sunshine…"

"I can still come and visit," said Amber.

"Of course you can," Joseph told her. "That's the great thing about times like these. You can do anything, go anywhere, be with anybody. Just gets me how out of all those places you could have gone, you came here to be with me."

"That's because I love you," said Amber.

"And I love you, sweetie," replied Joseph. "I want you to be happy."

"I'll only be happy when Umbrella is gone," said Amber. She could feel tears welling in her eyes. That dark recollection still seemed able to creep up and stick a knife in her heart, even here, where she should be safe and happy. "I'm going to keep fighting, Joe. They aren't going to get away with what they've done to us."

She wasn't sure whether she saw or sensed the worry in Joseph, but it was clearly present in his voice as he stroked her hair and said:

"Be careful, Ambie. I don't want you to get hurt."

"It doesn't matter," insisted Amber. "If anything happens to me, then we can be together again."

"But I don't want you to die," said Joseph suddenly, hugging her again.

Amber laid her head on his shoulder and let out a long, mournful sigh.

"I didn't want _you _to die," she said.

"Too late for that now," said Joseph, and he smiled, rather sadly. "Sucks, I know. But make a dead guy happy and don't join him too soon, okay?"

"But I - "

He kissed her softly, full on the lips. It shouldn't have felt so real, here in a dream, but everything else in the world seemed ghostly and ephemeral in comparison. Amber's eyes opened and she looked up into Joseph's gentle, handsome face, trying to think of something else to say to the man who always seemed to rob her of words.

She thought of something to say, forgot it instantly, and was reaching out again for inspiration when, unexpectedly, the mood changed. It was as though a cold, bitter wind had blown away the tenderness of the moment and, with it, the warmth of the calm summer day. She felt as though she'd just missed some kind of prompt, or noticed it but completely failed to understand it, because now Joseph looked deeply unhappy.

"Sorry, Ambie, but I have to go," he said, rather reluctantly.

"No," protested Amber, as his arms unfolded from around her and he started to fade. "No, Joseph, don't go!"

"_See you round…"_

"No!" she wailed, trying to cling tighter to him as he slipped away. The warmth of the sunshine on her skin was cooling rapidly, and the flowers and trees were unravelling and vanishing into the darkness like smoke. "Please, I want to stay here with you! I don't want to wake up! Don't leave me alone!"

"_Bye, baby…_"

"Sis, come on! You gotta wake up!"

Amber's eyes shot open. She rolled over and saw Jason looking down at her. Sprawled across the bed, he'd grabbed her by both shoulders, and she realised that he'd just shaken her awake.

"Jason, what the hell is your problem?" she hissed. "What is it?"

"Amb, you gotta help me," Jason pleaded. "Come on, get up! Quick!"

"Why?" she said, frowning suddenly. "What is it?"

Jason's face was white in the darkness. His eyes were wide open and his t-shirt, which bore the legend "Hobo Chic", was clinging damply to his chest; he reeked of nervous sweat.

"Amb," he whispered, with a glance at the door, "there's someone in the apartment…"

Amber sat up.

"What?" she said. "What do you mean there's someone in the apartment?"

"What do you _think _I mean, doofus?" said Jason in a strangled, hysterical whisper. "I mean there's some guy walking around in the living room! He just tried to grab me!"

She'd thought initially that this was some sort of joke, or that he'd woken her up for some stupid reason, like boredom, but now she could hear the fear in his voice. He wasn't kidding. Something was wrong.

"Are you sure you weren't just dreaming?" she said sharply.

"No way!" Jason protested. "I was dreaming about this babe who sits in front of me in Math class! I heard a noise and I woke up, and there was this dude standing over the couch, reaching out for me! He's out there right now! And he looks like he's _dead!_"

There was a loud thud from somewhere in the kitchen, and they both jumped, turning towards the door.

"_Uhhhh…"_

Amber went cold.

"You're right, Jase," she whispered. Her chest felt oddly stiff, as though her lungs had been filled with frosty air instead of the breath she needed. That was panic. Raw, unadulterated panic. She and Jason were in _serious _trouble.

"Wh-what are we going to do, Amb?" Jason whimpered, grabbing his sister and clinging to her shoulders.

Until now, she'd always kept up the semblance of bravery in front of Jason, who, in spite of his teenage cynicism, retained the fervent and touchingly unshakable belief that his big sister was a hero. To him, she was a stalwart defender of justice who never let the bad guys get away; someone who protected people, always did what was right, and always knew what to do.

She didn't know what to do this time. She didn't even know how to pretend she did. With no gun to defend herself, and the nearest phone on the other side of the door, they were both sitting targets if the intruder managed to break through into her bedroom. What was she going to do?

_What do cops always do when there's a crime in progress? _screamed her inner cop. _They follow their training, damn it! Get your brother to safety, take down the intruder any way you can, and call for backup!_

"Jason, get in the bathroom," she ordered, climbing out of bed. "Lock the door behind you! If anything goes wrong, I want you to jump out the window and run to the police station! There's a dumpster at street level, so you should get a soft landing. Don't stop until you get to the precinct! You'll be safe there."

"But what about you?" said Jason.

"I've got a job to do," said Amber, although her voice was trembling almost as much as she was. "Now get in the bathroom and don't come out till I say it's okay! If you hear me scream, you get out and you run, just like I told you! You hear me?"

Jason nodded dumbly and ran for the bathroom door. Amber watched as it shut behind him, and she heard the lock click.

Her brother was safe, for now. That left her with the second order of business: neutralise the intruder and find out how the hell he got into an apartment with a locked, bolted, chained front door and no windows that could be opened from outside.

_Oh God. I don't even have any weapons. And my police kit's sitting on the kitchen table. What am I going to do?_

Improvise. She'd just have to improvise. She grabbed one of the sheets and yanked it off the bed. She could throw it over the intruder and try to subdue him in the confusion. That might be a good idea. What other good ideas could she think of, very quickly, before whoever or whatever was in her apartment broke the door down and came to get her?

Her breathing was too fast. It seemed to be trying to keep up with her heartbeat, but if she kept this up, she'd start hyperventilating, and passing out at an inopportune moment would get her killed. Amber forced herself to hold her breath, then exhaled again, using the long, steady outward breath to try and bring her body back under control. She had to keep calm. She had to ignore the beating of her heart, the sweat that was making her hands slippery, the building panic that was making her chest and throat tense up. She had to concentrate…

"Jason?" she called. "Is there anything in the bathroom that's sharp, or heavy? I think I'm going to need some kind of weapon…"

"_All I can see is a toilet brush_," Jason called back, through the thickness of the door. "_No, wait, there's a plunger too."_

"A plunger," repeated Amber, feeling her heart sink. "Are you sure that's it?"

"_Well, yeah, unless you want to take out the bad guy with scented candles._"

"You mean the little ones in the red glass holders?"

"_Yeah, those._"

"Open the door and throw them out to me! And lock the door again after you!"

"_Okay. Heads up, sis!_"

The door opened a few inches, and a pile of items came hurtling out through the gap. Just as suddenly as it had opened, the door closed and locked again.

Amber made a dive for the things Jason had thrown her. She picked them up, trying to see what they were in the second-hand light from the streetlights outside.

Four scented candles in a little gift basket - a present from her cousin Nathan, a successful orthodontist in Rose Bay City. A toilet brush. And a plunger she'd bought from the dime store a few weeks ago, the price tag still dangling from its wooden handle. They were just about the worst weapons she could ever have asked for in a situation like this.

Unfortunately, they were all she had to work with. Amber gathered them up, slung the sheet over her arm and inched towards the door. She pressed her ear to the wooden panel and, holding her breath in, listened to what was on the other side.

A shuffling sound, on the tiles of the kitchen floor. _Shlup_. _Shlup-shlup. Shlup._ Unsteady footsteps, growing closer. Another desolate moan, almost the same kind Joseph used to utter whenever there was a Sharks game on TV and the opposing side scored a touchdown.

Amber tightened her grip on the toilet brush, and reached for the doorknob. Her palm was so slick with sweat that it slipped off the brass knob, but she gripped it again and turned.

The kitchen was draped in shadows, with only a few weak beams of artificial light sneaking in through the slats in the blinds. Standing near the fridge, with its back to her, was a man-shaped figure. The man looked about the same height as her brother and had short, tousled black hair. Before he could turn around, Amber reached out and flicked the light switch, hoping to dazzle him so she could buy enough time to lunge towards the kitchen table and grab the belt full of police equipment that she'd left there.

The man didn't even flinch. He turned around, slowly. Amber gasped as the light threw his disfigured face into sharp relief.

_Oh dear God…_

The man's skin was grey, covered in specks of mould and dried blood. Deep scratches had been gouged into his face; his hair was matted with blood, his clothes were torn and stained rust-red in places, and there were open wounds on his arms, legs and bare feet that looked uncannily like bite-marks. The stench of death that surrounded him was almost unbearable in the stuffy room.

Jason was right. Those blank, lifeless eyes belonged to a dead man. The problem was, he wasn't quite dead yet…

With a louder moan, the man raised his arms and began tottering across the kitchen floor towards her. Amber panicked and dropped the toilet brush in her haste to back away.

"G-go away!" she cried, hearing her voice rise to a terrified squeal.

"Uuurrgh…"

Amber grabbed one of the scented candles from the basket and hurled it at the zombie, hoping that her last-ditch defence strategy would work. There was a small waft of cinnamon and cranberry as the potted candle struck the dead man's face and shattered, leaving shards of broken red glass embedded in the decaying flesh.

Emboldened, Amber tried again, but missed in her haste. The second candle sailed straight over the zombie's shoulder and struck the fridge, leaving a dent, then smashed on the floor. The third candle bounced harmlessly off the zombie's forehead and the fourth, thrown straight afterwards in panic, fared little better than the last.

The zombie was stumbling past the kitchen table now, almost within reaching distance of her. Shaking with fear, Amber tossed the basket at its head and saw the object rebound into a corner. What was she going to do now? A plunger wasn't going to save her life!

The sheet… yes, it was a long shot, but it was the only one she'd get at survival. The only other alternative was to retreat, barricade herself inside her bedroom and try to escape through the bathroom window with Jason, and she wasn't sure how much safer it was outside. What if there were more of these things on the streets?

Amber grabbed the sheet and threw it over the zombie's head with an angry yell. Before the zombie could react to this move, she kicked it in the stomach and saw it fall backwards onto the floor, tangled up in the sheet.

"How dare you come here!" she raged, picking up one of the kitchen chairs. The zombie was trying to get up, rasping angrily, but she kicked it back down and brought the chair crashing down onto its head and torso. "How dare you try and hurt my brother! In _my home_! How dare you!"

She hit the zombie over the head one more time, for good measure, and heard a crack as its head hit the floor. A final groan escaped as a sigh, then the body stopped moving.

The chair fell from Amber's hands and she sank to the floor, gasping for breath. Her chest was working overtime now, heaving with the effort; even her best attempts to calm down couldn't stop her gasping coughs for breath.

"J-Jason," she croaked. "It's all right, Jase… I think it's dead…"

The bathroom door banged open and Jason came rushing out. He stopped in the doorway. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the body, wrapped up in a sheet. A small trickle of blood was seeping from beneath the head.

"Oh hell," he gasped. "Amb, what happened? What _was _that thing?"

"Jill and the others were right," said Amber, only partly in response to her brother's question. "They were right about everything. Those things are real. Zombies are real. And they're here in the city. They're the things causing the attacks."

"Zombies?" said Jason, and his face went even more pale. "You mean that was a - that was actually - oh, man, this is messed-up. This is totally messed-up! I thought zombies weren't real! I thought they were just in the movies, and in the _Bad Neighbourhood_ games and stuff… holy shit…"

He sat down beside Amber and buried his head in his hands.

"I always thought I'd be fine if zombies were real," he said quietly. "I thought I'd get out of a zombie outbreak alive and I totally wouldn't freak out or get killed or anything. I've owned all the guys in my class playing the _Bad Neighbourhood_ series and the minute I see a real zombie, I chicken out and hide in the bathroom. How much do I suck at real life? Seriously?"

Amber hugged him.

"Video games aren't real life, baby-bro," she told him. "If hiding in the bathroom will keep you from getting hurt, I don't mind you not coming to my rescue. You don't have extra lives to fall back on if you screw up."

Jason was shaking in her arms, almost in tears.

"But that thing almost got me… we could have _died_, Amb!"

"I know, but we're okay now," said Amber, hugging him more tightly. "We're okay."

She looked at the zombie again. Who was the deceased, anyway? More to the point, what was he doing in her kitchen? How did he get in, when there was no possible way of obtaining entrance to her apartment without smashing a window, blowing a hole in the wall or breaking down the door?

"I think I'd better call somebody," she said.

She let go of Jason and got up. Her legs were wobbling beneath her, so much that she had to grab the kitchen table for support, but she tried to pull herself together and stumbled across the room to grab the kitchen counter. She took the phone off the hook and dialled 9-1-1, with an index finger that was still shaking so much that it took her all her concentration not to misdial.

The sound of a ringing phone buzzed in her ears as she waited for someone to pick up. It was then, after four rings, that she heard Jason scream.

"Amb! Watch out!"

She turned and saw the zombie rising, unveiled like a grotesque statue as the sheet fell away from its body.

"_911 Emergency, how may I - "_

The phone fell from her hand and struck the floor, cutting the operator off mid-sentence with a click as it landed on the redial button.

Amber screamed and ducked as the dead man reached out for her, but her feet tangled in the folds of the sheet as she tried to run. She fell face-first on the tiles and cried out, trying to kick the sheet away so she could get back up. The zombie was coming closer, reaching down with stiff, cold fingers towards her neck.

Amber's fingers closed over the first item that came to hand. She brought it up into the zombie's face with a defensive shriek, closing her eyes in case the manoeuvre hadn't worked.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the zombie's mouth and nose completely covered by the plunger. When she realised she was still holding onto the handle, she pushed the plunger harder into the zombie's rotting face, forcing the zombie away from her - then, with one last shove, she let go.

The zombie stumbled backwards into one of the kitchen counters, knocking over a jar of peanut butter that Jason had left out. The plunger had already come loose and fallen away from the zombie's face. Amber seized her chance in the confusion and took up the chair again. Gripping the back, she swung the chair and knocked the zombie back down to the floor.

In a frenzy of panic, to the accompaniment of her brother's screams, Amber attacked the zombie with as much strength as she could amass when her arms and legs felt like jelly. There was a crunch as the chair hit home, and Amber gave a horrified gasp when she saw what she'd just done. Without meaning to, she'd driven one of the chair legs straight through its eye socket and into its skull.

Blood spurted from the hole as the zombie fell backwards again with a dry, rattling gasp, taking the chair out of her hands. It twitched, once or twice, then lay still.

"Holy shit," Jason was sobbing, as he cowered against the far wall. "Holy _shit_…"

Amber dropped to her knees. Blood was pooling on the floor tiles. She grabbed the phone and heard the dull sound of the dial tone. Not knowing what else to do, when the world she lived in had just gone insane, she turned it over and dialled the first number that came into her head.

xxxxxxxxxx

In an apartment full of boxes, Jill Valentine lay sprawled across a double bed, asleep in the tangled mess of sheets and blankets that covered her legs. The silence was broken only by the sound of the woman's soft breathing, and the occasional rustle as she turned over.

A few rooms away, the phone started to ring. Jill stirred, mumbling something in her sleep, and then rolled onto her side. A short while afterwards, the sound died away and silence flowed back into the room, like a returning tide of black water sweeping up onto the shores of the night.

Amid the chaos of scattered belongings on the nightstand, Jill's cellphone trilled loudly in the darkness. This time the woman jerked awake, and she scrabbled clumsily through the assortment of spare keys and small change to find the cellphone. Still groggy with sleep, her head swimming with half-remembered nightmares, Jill opened up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said sleepily.

She yawned and tried to listen, even though it was probably a wrong number. Who else was it going to be at this time of night? But as the panicked voice went on, it became clear that something was very wrong.

"Amber?" she said, suddenly awake and alert. "Amber, wait - you're talking too fast - slow down and start over. What happened?"

Jill listened, patiently at first, but it wasn't long before this gave way to a horrified gasp.

"They did _what?_"

xxxxxxxxxx

When the knock at the door came, Jason was sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his quivering shoulders. He flinched at the sound, and watched the doorway closely as his sister went over to answer the door. Relief returned when he saw four familiar figures enter the apartment and recognised them as the remaining members of STARS. Amber ushered them in quickly and shut the door behind her.

"I don't believe this," he heard Jill saying. "How did it get in here?"

"There haven't been _any _cases in this part of town till now," Barry was telling Chris. "They've been concentrated around the eastern half of the city, near the river. Masefield Park, Fairview and Brentford, a couple more in Newbury and Little Estonia, but they haven't ventured this far into downtown yet. I don't understand how it got all the way here without anybody noticing."

"I don't think it got here on its own. I think it was brought here," said Chris.

Barry stared at him.

"Are you serious?"

"After all the stuff that's been happening at the precinct?" said Chris, scowling. "Yeah, I'm serious. I think this is another one of Umbrella's scare tactics."

"Not an assassination attempt?" said Barry.

"No," said Chris, and he shook his head. "Too messy. They would have sent a bunch of guys to shoot her if it was."

"Where's the body, Amber?"

That was Brad, looking curiously around the apartment.

"It's in here," said Amber.

She led the STARS members into the kitchen, leaving Jason to sit alone and stare at the blank television screen in the living room. Without really thinking about it, he reached for the remote control and turned on the TV, then leaned forward to turn on his games console and pick up the controller.

Back in the kitchen, Amber and the STARS members were looking down at the floor, where the shrouded figure of the zombie lay sprawled on the tiles. Amber had removed the chair and covered the corpse over with the sheet, not for decency's sake, but because hiding the body from view had been the only way to calm her hysterical brother long enough to get him out of the room. Now that he was safely out of the way and couldn't get upset again, Amber pulled back the gore-stained sheet to show the others what lay beneath.

Brad went pale. Of the five STARS survivors, he'd seen the fewest of Umbrella's manifold horrors, and being this close to a zombie for the first time seemed to have come as almost as much of a shock to him as it had to Amber and her brother.

"My God," was all he said. "And this thing tried to get you and Jason?"

Amber nodded.

"No question about it, that's a standard-issue Umbrella zombie," said Chris. "I'm just curious as to how they snuck it in here without anybody noticing. No sign of forced entry."

"But the front door was bolted and the chain was on," said Amber. "How is that possible?"

Chris shrugged.

"Beats me. Who has keys to this place?"

"Only me and my landlady," said Amber straight away.

"What happened to Joseph's key?" said Chris. "He had one too, right?"

"Yeah, but his mom gave it back to me," said Amber.

"Could anybody have copied it?"

"No, I don't see how. Like I said, the only other person who'd have a key would be my landlady."

"Your landlady being…?"

"Mrs Carmichael. The old lady in the apartment downstairs. She has spare keys but she keeps them locked away somewhere. She wouldn't hand them over to anybody either. You'd have to prise them from her cold, dead - "

The sentence came crashing to a halt as Amber realised just what it was she was saying.

"Oh no," she said, her eyes widening. "Chris - Barry! Go downstairs and check on her! Quickly!"

Barry and Chris nodded, and rushed out of the room, slamming the front door closed behind them.

"You think they could have killed her to get your door key?" said Jill, as the sound of their running footsteps gradually disappeared down the hall.

"I don't know," said Amber, pacing back and forth in the limited space available. "I hope not…"

"Me too, but after this, there's no telling how far they'll go to shut you up," said Jill. "You must have _really _pissed them off this time."

Amber stopped her pacing.

"So you think Chris is right? You think they did this to scare me away for good?"

"I don't doubt it," said Jill. "This looks like your final warning, Amb. Next time it'll be a death squad."

"They call putting a zombie in her apartment a _warning_?" interrupted Brad. "That thing could have killed her!"

"I don't think they would have cried themselves to sleep tonight if it had," said Jill, shuddering. "It would have been just another one of those crazy cannibal killers. Someone who broke into a young woman's apartment and murdered her and her brother in the middle of the night. Very tragic, but nothing to do with them. Same as it always is."

"I'm not convinced they thought you could take this thing out, Amber," said Brad worriedly. "I think they were really trying to kill you."

"I don't know about that," Jill contradicted him. "Chris is right, this is too sloppy for an assassination attempt. If they'd really wanted Amber dead by dawn, they would have sent someone to make sure that thing got her before she could take it down. Something like this relied far too much on chance for it to work, and Umbrella doesn't take chances."

Amber thought for a moment, then decided that this was true. They'd sent three gunmen after a young photographer to make sure she didn't escape with her life, and she wasn't even armed…

A crash and a hair-raising screech from downstairs made all three of them jump.

"_AAAAHH! Help! Rape! Murder! Call the police!"_

It sounded as though Mrs Carmichael hadn't taken kindly to being woken in the middle of the night by two strange men barging into her apartment. The sound of breaking china and furniture being hurled across the room continued as Chris and Barry tried loudly to reassure her that they _were_ the police, and that they had been informed by one of her tenants that she might have been in mortal peril. There were more crashes, raised voices, and then a shriek.

"_THIEVES! Bandits! Get out of my apartment! I'm calling a locksmith right now! You're lucky I don't call the police too!"_

"_But ma'am, we ARE the - _"

"_I don't care who you are, young man! Kicking down decent people's doors at three in the morning is not what police officers are supposed to do! I don't pay my taxes to be frightened half to death in the middle of the night! Now get out!_"

A shamefaced Barry reappeared two minutes later, with Chris slinking back into the kitchen behind him. Both of them looked chastened and somewhat bruised; Barry appeared to have been hit in the face with something, because he was nursing his reddened nose and cheek.

"Well, that went well," said Jill wryly, on seeing them.

"Yeah, but at least we know the old lady's still alive," said Chris. "Amber, you're right, she's missing one of her keys. She didn't say which one, but if it wasn't the one that throws your front door wide open, then my middle name's Priscilla and Barry's is Gertrude."

"Wonderful," said Amber, sighing. "Now Umbrella has my house keys. Should I put my head in the oven now or later? It's quicker, right?"

Brad looked appalled by this suggestion.

"God forbid," he said. "No, Amber, you wait till your landlady calls somebody to change the locks, then you call someone else and have them change them for you again. Better yet, just move house. You can always come stay with me if you need someplace safe to hide."

Amber smiled. The offer was appreciated, and at a time like this, extremely tempting, but she still couldn't take it up. Even now, running from her fears wasn't going to be an option.

"Thanks, Brad, but I'm staying put," she said. "I don't care what Umbrella throws at me. This is my apartment and they're not going to force me out of it. They've already taken my boyfriend and now they're taking my job. I'm not about to let them take my home away from me too."

The four STARS members spent a moment quietly absorbing this sentiment.

"Then I think you'd better take this, kiddo," said Barry.

He reached into the hip pocket of his combat pants and pulled out a handgun. Amber took it delicately from his hands and gave it the benefit of an inspection.

"Joe and Bob Kendo designed that model specially for the STARS unit," Barry told her. "It's called the Samurai Edge. Takes standard 9mm rounds, so you don't need to worry about getting any special ammunition for it."

Amber was impressed, straight away, by what she saw. Not many gunsmiths in town could custom-build to this standard; lightweight and beautifully balanced, with the STARS logo carefully engraved into it, it wasn't so much a weapon as a piece of art. However, much as she admired it, and unwilling though she was to refuse the gift, she had to hand it back.

"Barry, I can't take this," she said, looking down at the floor to hide her embarrassment. "This is STARS equipment."

"Doesn't matter," said Barry firmly. "You need a gun, and if the precinct won't give yours back just yet, then I want you to take this one."

Amber looked up again in shock.

"But you're leaving tomorrow! Surely you'll need it far more than I - "

Barry produced a much larger gun from the holster at his side and gave it a friendly pat.

"This says I don't," he said.

Amber realised she was looking at Barry's semi-legendary customised Magnum. She'd heard him refer to it fondly on many occasions, in the manner of a doting uncle talking about a much-loved niece or nephew, but it was the first time she'd ever seen it properly. It looked big enough to blow away a grizzly bear with one shot, or at least send bits of a dangerous criminal flying into the next county. According to some of the stories she'd heard from Officer Murray in Ballistics, it had done both, twice, from ten miles away. Backwards.

She wavered for a moment, then said:

"Are you _sure _you don't need it?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," said Barry, and he gave the Magnum another affectionate pat. "Bessie here'll take care of most things. Had her since my days on the SWAT team, and I know I can count on her to take out anything in my way. I wouldn't swap this old girl for a chopper full of grenades, and that's a fact."

Amber smiled.

"Thanks, Barry."

Barry's response was a simple nod, acknowledging the gratitude. Amber concluded that nothing more needed to be said. Uncomfortable though it was to know that she wasn't strictly entitled to use STARS equipment, she had to admit that it felt good to have a gun again. If Umbrella decided to throw anything else at her, it was reassuring to know that she wouldn't have to throw household items back.

"So what are we going to do now?" said Brad. "Amber's got a dead body in her kitchen. How are we going to get it out of here?"

Had he heard this, Jason would most likely have suggested pushing it from the bathroom window and into the dumpster out front, "so it looks like he just jumped or something - that way you don't have to roll him downstairs and scare the hell out of the neighbours". It was a ridiculous notion, and Amber almost smiled, but she reminded herself, just in time, that it wasn't funny. A man had died and she could only hope that this had happened before he fell into Umbrella's clutches. What was more, she and Jason had come within inches of being killed in their sleep by the deceased. This definitely wasn't a laughing matter.

"We should call Ruth and Derek," Chris was saying. "And Quentin, he's got a strong stomach. Get Corey, too, we're going to need a camera."

"What will a camera prove?" said Jill. "Any pictures will just show a dead, decomposing body in Amber's kitchen. Zombies don't look different from any other corpses once they're dead, Chris."

Chris conceded this fact, then said:

"We can still prove it was here. Everyone knows it wasn't here before."

"Do they?" said Jill flatly. "We know that, but that doesn't mean other people will believe it. They might think Amber killed some guy and left him to rot in her kitchen so she could stage this."

Chris looked aghast.

"You don't seriously think - "

"Yes, I do," snapped Jill. "We could get Amber into even more trouble if we're not careful. Call Forensics in, but just Ruth, Derek and Quentin. We can trust those three to keep this on the down-low until they can prove to everybody that the body's infected with the T-Virus and the injuries were incurred post-mortem. We also need clear evidence of a break-in from a third party and a consistent account of our movements and presence here, or people are going to think this is a set-up because _we're _involved."

"They'll still need to take pictures," Chris told her.

"I know," Jill said impatiently, "but Corey's just a kid and you know how kids are. If he starts shooting his mouth off to his friends about finding a corpse in Amber's apartment then the whole precinct'll start talking. The others are smart enough to know when to keep quiet."

"This is great, though," said Chris, changing tack. "We've finally got our proof. One _bona fide_ zombie, right here in the middle of downtown, and nobody will be able to disprove us once we show everyone our test results and - "

"Uh, guys?" said Brad, and he pointed to the body behind them. "Should it be doing that? Because I, uh, I don't think that's normal…"

Jill, Amber and Chris turned around, and looked down. Their mouths dropped open. Barry peered past them and let out a dismayed gasp as he saw the zombie's body crumbling. Flesh, bones and even teeth were dissolving, as though someone had accelerated the corpse's rate of decay a millionfold. Within seconds, its disintegration was complete; there was nothing left of the dead man but a pile of fine greyish-brown dust and a belt buckle.

Jill went to pick up the buckle, but immediately thought better of it and straightened up again.

"Shit," she said, bitterly, then, with more force: "Shit!"

"I've killed a lot of zombies, and I've never seen _that _happen before," said Chris, looking stunned.

"They've done it again!" Jill said furiously. "They've messed with the virus somehow! The ones in the mansion never dissolved like that! We had to _burn _the damn things to stop them coming back to life!"

"I'll bet they've done this to make it easier to cover up the evidence," said Barry.

Chris looked up, his eyes bright with a sudden idea.

"You don't think this is the G-Virus, do you?" he said.

"No," said Jill, breathing out. "No, I don't think it is. I think this is just another strain of the T-Virus. They were still experimenting on it at the mansion when it leaked. The virus we saw there could have been some new variant they were working on."

Barry seemed to agree with this hypothesis.

"This could well be the original T-Virus," he said. "This guy dissolved instead of coming back again even stronger like the others did, so I don't think this is the new improved version. I guess that's something to be thankful for."

"So much for our evidence," said Chris unhappily. "Damn it. All we can do now is sweep up Count Dracula here," he gestured to the pile of dust, "and go home. Not much point handing over a little pile of dust to Forensics."

"Yes there is," said Amber. "They can confirm the presence of the T-Virus and human DNA."

Chris looked too tired to argue.

"All right, scoop it up and put it in a jar or something. You can hand it over to Ruth tomorrow and see what she makes of it - assuming the disintegration process hasn't broken down the virus too. What are you going to do about this place? Until you get those locks changed and get a new front door key, you and Jason have no way of keeping Umbrella out of here."

"I'll wait here with them until the locksmith shows up," Brad volunteered.

"I will too, Chris," said Jill. "You and Barry should go home and sleep. You've got a long journey tomorrow."

"Tell us about it," said Barry. "All right, Jill, we'd better get going. Brad, if we don't run into you again before we leave tomorrow, take care of yourself. We'll stop by and see you when we get back."

"Okay," said Brad. "You guys be careful."

"You too, buddy," said Chris, patting him on the back. "Well, if everyone's okay here, I'm heading home."

"I'm going too," confirmed Barry. "Goodnight, everybody."

"Night, guys," said Brad.

"Take care," added Jill.

They heard Barry and Chris call out a parting goodnight to Jason, who mumbled "Night," in return as they made their way out. The door slammed behind them, and that, it seemed, was that.

Amber, Jill and Brad looked at each other and sighed, in imperfect unison.

"All right, we'd better get this mess cleared up," said Jill. "Don't touch it, either of you," she added, before Amber could reach for the broom in the corner. "That stuff is a biohazard and I don't want anybody handling it without protective gear. Too dangerous."

"Too _gross_," agreed Brad. "I wouldn't touch that stuff if you paid me double overtime every day of week. You'd have to throw in some bikini girls and a trip to Hawaii for me to even consider it."

As she watched Jill getting out her cellphone, Amber couldn't help but agree. Sweeping up powdered dead guy wasn't her idea of a quiet night in. As leisure activities went, she decided, it ranked somewhere in between walking barefoot on broken glass and going lingerie shopping with Chief Irons.

"Why don't we check on Jason while we're waiting?" Brad suggested. "I'm sure he could use the company."

"Sure," said Amber, trying not to sound too relieved to have an excuse to leave the room. "He's probably just playing video games, but I guess it couldn't hurt to look in on him."

They went back into the living room, leaving Jill to make her phone call. As Amber had expected, Jason's eyes were fixed firmly to the TV screen and his thumbs were locked into gaming position. Unusually for Jason, though, his heart didn't seem to be in it. His movements seemed listless and disinterested, as though he didn't really care whether or not the pixellated protagonists on the screen survived to the next level. It was a half-heartedness that seemed unnatural in someone normally so lively, but the worst thing, thought Amber, was the look on his face. That blank, grey expression was utterly terrifying - it made her brother look almost as dead as the man whose remains now lay in dust on her kitchen floor.

If Brad was of a similar mind, then he hid it well. He simply smiled, and sat down on the couch beside the teenage boy.

"Hey, Jason," he greeted him. "How's it going?"

"Not good," said Jason indistinctly. "I'm trying to - "

There was a crashing sound, then a robotic voice intoned:

"_Game Over."_

Jason groaned.

"Aww, man, look what you made me do," he complained. "Now I have to start over…"

Brad leaned forward to look at the screen.

"What are you playing?" he asked.

Jason nodded towards a nearby video game case.

"Wow, I used to love that game," said Brad, with a touch of wistfulness in his voice. "Can I play too?"

The question seemed to have snapped Jason out of his trance and brought him back to reality, because he instantly brightened.

"Sure dude," he said generously, passing Brad the spare controller. "Go for it. Just watch out for the Jump button, it sticks if you press it too hard."

Amber heard a roll of thunder and a few tinny organ chords as the game started up, then a deep voice intoned:

"_Vampire Rally Racers… 5..._"

"Vampire Rally Racers?" said Jill's incredulous voice from the doorway. "They made a game called _Vampire Rally Racers_? And it was successful enough for four sequels? I can't believe your brother wastes his allowance on that junk."

Amber rolled her eyes.

"Don't ask me where he finds this stuff," she said. "They must have seen him coming at the video game store."

"No kidding," said Jill. "What else did he buy? _Revenge of the Badly-Made Sequels?_"

"This used to be one of my favourites," said Brad, completely oblivious to these comments. "I lent my copy to Kevin and he never gave it back. Can I be Count Truckula?"

"Only if I get to be Dr Frankendrive," said Jason. "Come on, dude, you get the Abominable Snow-Tires and everything, at least let me be Dr Frankendrive so I can have the Monster Truck…"

In the privacy of her head, Amber sighed. It looked like it was going to be another long night.

Of course, had things gone differently, it could have been a very short night indeed for her and Jason. Instead they were alive and well, and in the company of friends. If that wasn't something to be thankful for, she thought, rather sleepily, then she didn't know what was…

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber's eyes snapped open. She could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. She stiffened and drew her new STARS-issue handgun, then sat up -

"It's okay, Amber," came Brad's voice, from the couch. "It's just Forensics doing their thing. They said they should be gone in a few minutes."

Amber relaxed, and let her head fall back onto the armrest. She'd curled up in the armchair next to the couch so she could watch Brad and Jason playing something else involving automobile-based mayhem. She must have dozed off, although she had no idea how she'd been able to sleep through the noise of explosions on the TV.

"What did they say?" she asked.

"About the zombie?" said Brad. He was still tapping the Fire button on the controller frantically, trying to run Jason's car off the track. "Not much. Jill told them what happened and Ruth looked at her like she'd grown an extra head, but she and Quentin are cleaning up the dust now. They said they'll get it back to the lab on their way home and run some tests on it."

Amber raised her head curiously.

"Did Derek take any pictures?"

"Yeah, and he found some footprints, but he's pretty sure they belonged to the dead guy," said Brad. "You want to know how he got in?"

"I'm all ears," said Amber.

"Well," said Brad, leaning slightly to the right to see past Jason's head, "you know how Chris said he couldn't find any signs of forced entry? Derek figured that was because whoever brought the dead guy here didn't need to force their way in. They already had a key, and it's possible to take the chain off from outside if you can get the door open a few inches. You'd have to have _very_ small wrists to reach through the gap, but Ruth just managed to do it."

Amber felt a shiver run down her back. Had it really been that easy to gain access to her home, when she'd always believed it was so secure?

"What about the bolt?" she said.

"It wasn't forced, and it doesn't look like it was tampered with beforehand," said Brad. "My guess is the bolt just didn't shoot home properly and they jimmied it open with a credit card. Wouldn't be hard to do. Derek thinks they could have used some kind of magnet, since it's a steel bolt, but I think that's kind of unlikely. I'm pretty sure someone would have noticed a couple of guys carrying a giant electromagnet down the hall."

Amber wanted to express her disbelief that this was happening to her, but she couldn't find the words she needed. Instead, uncomfortable in her awareness that her wide eyes and open mouth weren't getting her anywhere, she closed her mouth and laid her heavy, muddled head on the armrest again. Sleep would make the situation go away, or at least help her make more sense of everything in the morning...

"Hey, we're heading back to the precinct now," Ruth announced loudly to the rest of the room, and Amber looked up again. "We'll get this mystery powder of yours back to the lab and see what we can find."

"Is everything cleaned up in there?" Jill asked.

"Well, we've found about all the evidence we're going to find, and Quentin tells me the most biohazardous thing left in the kitchen is the cheese at the back of the refrigerator," said Ruth. "All in all, I'd say we're done here."

"Thanks for coming out here, Ruth," said Jill. "I'm sorry to drag you out here like this, but - "

"Hey, it's not like we've never had a late-night call-out before," said Ruth, waving the apology away. "Don't worry about it. I just hope whatever we find will help you guys with your investigation."

"I have to ask," said Jill suddenly. "Do you believe us? Do you think there are zombies in the city? Or do you think we're making it up, like everyone else does?"

Ruth appeared to give this statement some thought.

"No, I don't think you're making it up," she said at last. "We've been to some pretty strange crime scenes lately, and the evidence is starting to indicate that you guys could be on to something. I'm not going to say zombies exist, and I'm not sure I agree with all the facts of your case, but there's definitely _something _going on around here."

She sighed, in a way that conveyed as much regret as exasperation.

"I just wish I knew what…"

"You'll tell us if you find anything, right?" Jill asked her.

"Absolutely," said Ruth, more firmly this time. "I want to get to the bottom of these attacks just as much as you do. Whoever's responsible for all this isn't going to get away with it. Sooner or later, we're going to catch up with them, and when we do, we'll make sure they end up behind bars for the rest of their natural lives."

"Ruth, are we done here? We need to get back to the lab," said Derek, who was standing by the door. He was holding his camera and a container with the biohazard symbol stencilled on the side. Quentin was standing next to him, holding a case of equipment; they both looked tired and impatient to leave.

"Yeah, we're done," Ruth told him, before turning back to the others in the room. "Well, night everyone. Jill, Amber, I'll see you tomorrow. You guys take care of yourselves."

The three members of the Forensics team had barely closed the door behind them when there was a fresh knock at the door. Jason jumped, and looked at the door fearfully, as though he anticipated another unwanted visitor.

Brad's eyes narrowed, and he put down his controller. He got up and threw the door open. A man in overalls was standing at the entrance, with a holdall in one hand. He looked surprised to see a hostile-looking Brad on the other side of the doorway.

"Uh… is this Amber Bernstein's apartment?" he said, taking a step backwards. "Her landlady called and asked me to fit a new lock to the front door. Emergency callout. She said the spare key's been stolen?"

From across the room, Amber saw her brother breathe out again. She looked again at the door and saw Brad murmuring something in the man's ear as he escorted him in. The man listened intently to whatever was being said, then he said:

"So basically what you're telling me is that this place is some kind of police safe-house now? Does the old lady downstairs know that?"

"No, and she doesn't need to know either," said Brad, with a scowl. "Miss Bernstein and her brother are key witnesses in an anti-corruption case and their safety is of the utmost importance to national security. All other information is strictly need-to-know."

"I get it. So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to change the lock on this door, but when you do, I want you to give the landlady a different key to the one you give Miss Bernstein, so it won't fit the lock. Nobody except Miss Bernstein gets a working key to this door, okay?"

"What do I tell the old lady?"

"You don't tell her anything. If anyone else has access to this place then the security of these witnesses could be compromised. As far as she knows, her key works."

"But she owns this place… can you _do_ that?"

"I don't care if she owns this and half of Egypt, I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep these people safe. Once this is all over, that's different. She can bill me for new keys if she wants. Until then, nobody gets in here without Miss Bernstein's say-so. And just so you know, if anything happens to Miss Bernstein or her brother because this apartment isn't _completely _secure, I will personally ensure that you go home in a full-body cast. Understood?"

"You couldn't have made yourself more clear, sir," said the locksmith, who was starting to look really nervous. "What about the bill?"

"You send a bill to the landlady downstairs for the new lock and two keys," said Brad tersely. "You send the bill for everything else to the third-floor apartment at 2723 Eisley Street."

Amber was temporarily lost for words. That was Brad's address in Masefield Park. He really was determined to make sure she was safe if he was willing to pay this much for security measures. Locksmiths in Raccoon City didn't come cheap, especially with so many lockpicks now in circulation; she and her colleagues regularly unearthed stashes of the things during routine searches, and despite their best efforts to eradicate these tools of the criminal trade, it was depressing how many of them were still finding their way into the hands of the city's burglars.

"Okay, I'll, uh, I'll get to work then," said the locksmith, with a tiny, tentative sideways glance at Brad.

"You do that," was Brad's curt instruction.

Amber watched as the locksmith got to work, unpacking his bag and taking out the tools he needed for the job. Brad was still glaring at the man's back, as if daring him to make even the smallest movement without permission. She soon realised it was pointless to stay awake and watch any more. Brad may not have been the bravest man alive but he wasn't about to let her come to any harm, and Jill's sharp eyes, tired though they were, never missed a thing. If she was safe anywhere, it was here.

She laid her head on the armrest again and closed her eyes, letting the sounds around her lull her back into something approaching sleep. For a while she drifted in a daze, half-awake and half-asleep, until the sound of the front door slamming shut startled her back to consciousness again.

"Wha-?"

"It's all right," said Brad, in reassuring tones. He was kneeling on the floor beside her armchair. "The guy just left. Your new key's over there on the coffee table. He's given the landlady a dud key so there's no other way to get access. Yours is the only one that works."

Even drowsiness couldn't stop Amber smiling. Her home was her castle again, and nobody was getting in without her say-so.

"That's good…"

"I paid him a little extra to replace the bolts and the door-chain, too," said Brad, with a timid smile. "If Umbrella still want zombies to come in and get you, they'll have to break out the explosives, because the only way they're getting in is through the wall."

"Thanks, Brad," Amber told him. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble just for my sake."

Brad's cheeks went pink.

"Don't you worry about that," he mumbled. "We have to take care of each other, right? Come on, you're one of us now. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter, 'cause we'd look after you anyway. It's what Joseph would have wanted."

He must have seen the look on her face and realised what he'd just said, because he paled, then blurted out:

"I didn't mean to - I'm sorry, it just slipped out, I never… I'm so sorry…"

It was clear that he'd been expecting an outburst of grief. Amber, too, had been bracing herself for it, and she was as astonished as Brad to find that her eyes were completely dry. Her heart felt as heavy as ever with the knowledge that the man she loved was dead, but for some reason, the tears wouldn't come. She wondered why, then decided that she was still in shock from the zombie attack. How cruel, and how unfair, she thought, that the only thing that could numb her grief was fear. Hadn't she suffered enough?

"It's okay," she said instead. "You don't have to apologise. You're right, Joseph would have wanted to know I was being looked after. And I'm really glad you and Jill are here to take care of us, Brad. Thank you."

A loud snore from the other armchair punctured the silence. Amber craned her neck to look past Brad, and saw Jill slumped in the chair. She was soundly asleep and though the position she'd adopted looked awkward - even cramp-inducing - she seemed entirely comfortable curled up amongst the cushions.

Jason, by way of contrast, was sprawled across the entire length of the couch. He was still holding the video game controller, but the blaring images on the screen were going unwatched. He too was asleep; his mouth was wide open, and a strand of warm drool was trickling down onto the cushion beneath his head.

"How long have they been asleep?" said Amber, lowering her voice to avoid waking them.

Brad shrugged.

"Not sure. Couple of hours, maybe. It's four in the morning."

"And you're still awake?"

"Yeah. Thought I'd sit up for a while and keep an eye on things. Jill said I didn't have to, but I couldn't sleep, so I figured what the hell. Besides, I wanted to make sure that guy didn't try anything funny. I'm still not convinced he was on the level. What if he was an impostor and Umbrella kidnapped the real guy who was sent out here?"

"Brad, I _really _doubt that," said Amber, rolling her eyes at this. "I know that company. They're a small family firm, nine or ten people, so it wouldn't take long to find out if someone's been impersonating one of their employees. If you're that worried, you can call them in the morning and check, but if I were you, I wouldn't bother."

"All right," said Brad, grudgingly. "As long as you're sure."

"Sure I'm sure," said Amber. "So what's happening with you and Jill? Are you two staying the night?"

"Looks like Jill is," said Brad, casting a glance at the armchair. "Me, I'm heading home. I promised my mom I'd take her to the electronics store in the morning. Her TV set broke and she wants me to help her pick out a new one."

"Sounds like fun," said Amber politely, although it didn't. In fact, it sounded more like cruel and unusual punishment. She could imagine old Mrs Vickers glaring and prodding her way around the store, demanding to know if the televisions picked up the home shopping network and whether they still took Betamax, making the sales assistants run around attending to her every whim whilst complaining loudly about the standard of service, promptly deciding she didn't want anything they showed her, then changing her mind, buying the cheapest possible model, and henpecking poor Brad into carrying it home.

"You don't mind, do you?" said Brad, looking suddenly guilty. "I mean, I'd stay, but - "

"No, that's okay," said Amber. "Thanks for coming over, Brad. And thanks for taking care of my door for me."

Brad looked relieved.

"Glad I could help," he said. "Well, goodnight, Amber."

He got up and walked towards the door, picking up his jacket. Amber looked across the room at Jill, but then her eyes swivelled towards the couch, and Jason, who was still sleeping peacefully. The first thought that popped into her head, filling the gap in her stream of consciousness, was:

_I can't keep him safe here for much longer. He almost died tonight. Umbrella may only have threatened him to scare me, but if they come back and find us both here, he won't leave the room alive. As long as he's near me, he's in danger…_

"Brad?" she said suddenly, standing up.

Brad stopped just short of the door.

"Yes?" he said, turning around to face her.

"I - "

Amber faltered, but these were words that she couldn't allow to fall short. She took a few steps closer, then a few more, until she was standing right in front of Brad, then she tried again.

"Brad, I know you've already helped me out tonight, but… well, I need to ask you a favour," she said, watching his expression closely for any sign of change. She thought she saw a flicker of hesitation, but then Brad smiled.

"Anything," he said sincerely. "What is it?"

As she looked up at Brad, Amber felt a wisp of regret somewhere deep inside her. There was warmth in that face, and real affection. She knew he wanted to take care of her, and with one small, treacherous part of her brain constantly reminding her that her boyfriend was gone and could never hold her again, she was almost tempted to let him.

_Stop it,_ said her conscience sternly. _He may be kind, but you can't expect him to replace Joseph. How can he? He's not Joseph, and he never will be, so don't ask him to try and fill that space in your life. He can't, and if he tried then you'd only resent him for it. Just let it lie._

She pushed the thought away and felt the hazy, tentative images of a future with Brad fade slowly to black. It was almost a shame, because he was a nice guy, but Brad deserved someone who would love him unconditionally and for ever, and that someone wasn't her. For better or worse, she still loved Joseph; resigning herself to his loss and settling down with someone else was tantamount to letting Umbrella get away with murder, and she wasn't prepared to let them take away the things she held dear without putting up a fight. Which reminded her -

"Yes?" Brad prompted her, gently and without impatience. "What is it?"

She didn't like what she was about to ask. She should never have had to let the thought cross her mind, and she hated the fact that it was on the tip of her tongue now. But whether she liked it or not was irrelevant, she reminded herself, as she forced herself to swallow her pride. It was for the best, even if it went against all her instincts to admit it.

"Brad," she said, "I want you to take Jason back to Masefield Park and - and look after him for me. Just for a little while. Can you do that?"

The words came out louder than she'd expected. The abruptness of them didn't seem lost on Brad either. He looked startled, as though the request had given him some kind of electric shock.

"What?"

"Please, Brad," Amber pleaded, reaching out to touch his arm. "He's not safe here with me any more, and I can't ask Jill to take him when she's just moved. He'll be much safer with you in Masefield Park. Umbrella won't go looking for him there."

Brad managed a smile, in spite of his shattered nerves.

"You've got that right," he said. "Nobody who knows the first thing about my neighbourhood would be dumb enough to take that assignment. Umbrella agents may be crazy but they're not stupid."

"So you'll take him?" Amber said imploringly.

Brad's look of hesitation was returning. For a second that almost stopped her heart, she thought he was going to say no, but at last he nodded in assent.

"All right. I'll take him."

"You're not taking me _anywhere_," retorted a voice from behind them.

The shock of hearing this sudden response made Amber turn around. Jason was sitting up on the couch, his eyes bright with anger. He must have stirred from sleep and overheard what was being said, because before she could open her mouth to explain her request, he said:

"Look, I heard what you guys said, and there's totally no way I'm going back to Crimesville. No offence, Brad dude, but your neighbourhood is _way _beyond bogus. It's cool that you want to help my sister, don't get me wrong, but I'm staying here with her."

"Jason - " Amber tried.

"No, Amb," Jason interrupted, and he got up from the couch. "Don't try and talk me into leaving, because I won't! Not unless you come too!"

"Jason, I'm not leaving," said Amber impatiently. "Why should I be scared into leaving my home, when they're the ones who should be running scared? I'm not going anywhere!"

"Then how come I have to?" Jason complained. "That's really lame, Amb. I don't want those gaylords to make you send me away! I like staying here with you."

"Jason, don't think I want to do this," Amber said, with a sigh of exasperation. "Believe me, I'd be a lot happier keeping you close by, but after what happened here, I just… I don't know if I can trust myself to keep you safe any more. If they got to us here tonight, then they could do it again, and next time we might not be so lucky. I don't want to run the risk of screwing up again."

"You didn't screw up," said Jason stubbornly. "You took care of me, just like you said you would. Come on, sis, you saved my life! I can't leave you here all alone after you saved me from being eaten by that dead guy!"

"That doesn't matter," said Amber, shaking her head.

"My ass it doesn't," retorted Jason. "I don't care if those douchebags _do_ come back for a second round, I'm still safer here with you than anywhere else. You're the only person in the city who can take out a zombie with a sheet and a toilet brush. Besides," he added, virtuously, "I want to be here so I can help keep you safe. You don't want me to worry about you, right?"

Amber's protests withered and died in the face of her brother's imploring stare. She wanted to talk him out of his line of reasoning, but it was no use. He'd won already, and although he seemed to have a lot more faith in her ability to protect him than she did, she had to admit that she was touched by his loyalty.

"All right, you win," she said reluctantly. "But I'm still not happy about this. If you stay here, then I can't guarantee you'll be safe."

"You can't guarantee I'll be safe anywhere," Jason pointed out, much to her annoyance. "Here's just as safe as anywhere else you could send me. You know I'm right, so quit worrying and just agree with me."

"Well, if you guys have decided to stay, then I'd best get going," said Brad, opting for tact in the midst of an uncomfortable silence. "If either of you change your minds later, just give me a call, okay?"

"We will, Brad," said Amber. "Thank you."

"Night, dude," said Jason, with a small wave.

Brad looked over his shoulder to bid them goodnight once more, then left the apartment. Amber closed the door behind him and set about locking, bolting and securing it. The new key fitted perfectly; Brad had been just as good as his word.

Jason seemed to relax as the bolt hit home.

"Well, I guess that's that," he remarked. "I'm going back to sleep now."

Amber felt something dark and indignant rise to the surface of her emotions. How could he suddenly be so complacent, as though what had happened earlier had just been a bad dream? Had he already forgotten how much danger they'd been in?

"Jason," she said hotly, turning round, "there was a very good reason why I wanted you to go with Brad just now. Do you know why I asked him to take you? It's because you and I are both in terrible danger!"

"What, even now?" said Jason sceptically. "After Brad had our door fixed and the STARS - "

"Yes, even now!" Amber snapped. "Do you really think a new lock is going to keep these people from our door, Jason? Do you think for _one minute _that a bolt will stop them from trying to get to us? They want me dead, and they won't hesitate to take you out either if you get in their way! Being innocent won't save you! They've killed hundreds of innocent people already and I wanted you out of the way so if anything goes wrong, you won't have to be one of them!"

"I'm not going to _be _one of them, okay?" said Jason resentfully. "I'm not stupid! I know you're in trouble with these people, but you're acting like there's nothing you can do to stop them, and you _can_, sis! I know you can, because Brad told me you're the only one still investigating this case! He says everyone else is too scared! You're the only one who can help, so you have to keep fighting, or you'll let them get away with all the stuff they're doing!"

"Jason, I _am _fighting! But this is my fight, not yours!" Amber yelled, borne up again by her own fury. "You shouldn't even be involved! The whole reason I'm fighting in the first place is to keep you and everyone in this city from getting hurt! If you're stuck in the line of fire with me, I don't know if I'll be able to protect you! If you got killed because of me - "

She could feel her heart sinking, even as the rage died down. That thought - the one that seemed to perch constantly at the back of her mind - was on the prowl again. The thought that what she was doing could get someone blameless killed. No matter how inadvertently it was spilled, she didn't want innocent blood to stain her hands again. Bethany's ghost still haunted her, even now. Would her brother have to haunt her too?

She must have started crying, without realising it, because suddenly her cheeks were damp and Jason was grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Look, sis," he said, urgently. "You mustn't cry like this any more, okay? I _know _you're only trying to look out for me, but I want to stay. Really. I don't want to be stuck across town if they send more dead guys after you. If anything bad happened to you, I'd have to come and, like, save you from the zombies. And you wouldn't want me to have to fight my way across town all on my own, would you?"

Amber shook her head tearfully.

"Exactly," said Jason. "I can't help you out of trouble if I'm stuck at Brad's place, and you won't be able to protect me there either. We're better off sticking together. If we stay in the same place, we can watch each other's backs and be safer and stuff."

"I know," said Amber. "I just don't want you to get hurt…"

Jason patted her back.

"I know, sis," he said. "But it's going to be okay. We'll get through this, right?"

Amber looked up, her cheeks wet with tears, and nodded.

"See? Even you think I'm right," said Jason. "Now stop being a big doofus and come play _Vampire Rally Racers _with me. You want to be the Loch Ness Roadster or the Motorcyclops?"

"The first one sounds good," Amber suggested, a little doubtfully. She'd never really enjoyed racing games, but right now she was ready to agree to anything that would allow her to keep a watchful eye on her brother.

"Okay, you can be the Loch Ness Roadster, I'll be Pharoah Tootincarhorn."

"Sure, sounds great," said Amber feebly.

"All _right_!"

Grinning, Jason bounded over to the couch. Amber curled up on the cushions beside him, took the spare controller from his hands, and started to play what initially appeared to be the world's worst video game. However, it wasn't long before Amber found, to her surprise, that she was actually having fun. Her grudging enjoyment soon turned into real enthusiasm, and when a sneaky move from Jason flipped her car off course, she found herself shrieking outrage at him as he pulled ahead.

"You cheat! Stop using the Wheels of Misfortune! You've done that twice now and it's getting lame!"

"Then quit with the Vindscreen Viper attacks and stop tying my car up already! You _know _I can't use my Rejector Seat for another two laps. You're not being fair."

"Exactly how is it fair when your scarab beetles keep eating _my_ car?"

"About as fair as when you used your Loch 'n' Load attack to flood the track!"

"I'm allowed to do that!"

"So?"

Their bickering continued in the same vein until, finally, Jason was forced to give in to the fact that, although he was winning, they both needed sleep. Amber couldn't hide her relief as he switched off the television. It had been getting progressively harder to hide her fatigue as her eyelids drooped and her reactions slowed to a crawl.

Jason slumped back into the cushions and let out a huge yawn.

"Man, I'm tired…"

"Same here," said Amber, stifling a yawn of her own. "I can't believe we stayed up this late."

"Yeah. Kind of amazed we didn't wake up Jill," said Jason. He looked over at Jill, who had slept soundly through the audiovisual onslaught that had been the previous level, and was now snoring softly. "She must be able to sleep through _anything_."

"She can," said Amber, shifting position so he could lean on her shoulder. "She used to date Chris and she said he always had the TV on too loud late at night, so I guess she's used to filtering out noise."

"She and Chris used to date?" said Jason. "Really?"

"Really," said Amber.

"No way," said Jason, looking surprised. "When did that happen?"

"Round about the time you were into _Swordcraft II_," said Amber.

"I was really into _Swordcraft II_," Jason admitted. "I guess I didn't notice."

"You didn't miss much. They broke up after a while."

"How come?"

"Well, Chris never cleans up after himself, he thinks he's always right, and he doesn't take criticism very well. He's also stubborn as hell and utterly convinced he can play the guitar."

"I guess that didn't go too well with the criticism thing."

"You could say that. It used to drive Jill nuts. Every time she told him to grow up and start acting like an adult, or even just do some chores once in a while, he'd call her a control freak and then they'd fight again. I kept telling her he had to go because he was making her life miserable, and in the end she agreed. She told him she was sick of acting like his mother and his ego was taking up too much room on the couch, and kicked him out of her apartment."

"Wow. That's brutal."

"Not really. I'm kind of glad she ditched him. He wasn't a bad guy, don't get me wrong about that, but they weren't right for each other. If they'd had more in common besides work then maybe they wouldn't have grown apart so fast… oh, hell, I don't know. It's just one of those things, you know?"

"Yeah."

Amber knew she needed to go to bed, but Jason was lying across the couch and didn't seem inclined to shift position enough to let her get up, and the couch was so comfortable and warm that she wasn't particularly tempted to move. She settled for a compromise by tucking a cushion under her head and closing her eyes.

"Amb?" said Jason.

Amber opened her eyes again.

"Yes?"

"You think if Joseph was still around, you two would have got married, or do you think you would have grown apart like Jill and Chris did?"

"Joseph wanted to get married," said Amber, sighing. "He never got the chance to ask me, but if he had… well, I guess I'll never know now, but I think we would have been happy together."

"Yeah," said Jason sleepily. He was still leaning on her shoulder. "You always looked happy together. Mom used to say you two were good for each other."

Amber nodded, and closed her eyes again.

"Hey, Amb?"

"What _is_ it, Jason?" said Amber irritably, opening her eyes and sitting up. "I'm trying to sleep."

Jason shrank back from her. He suddenly looked small, lost and frightened, like a young child in need of reassurance after a nightmare.

"You don't really think anything bad's going to happen to us here, do you?" he said, giving the front door another anxious look. "Only you said - "

Amber's stance immediately softened. Jason's refusal to leave had seemed like pure stubbornness at first, but even when she changed her mind and decided to respect her little brother's determination to stay by her side, she'd put his courage down to obliviousness to the danger. Now it was dawning on her that not only was Jason clearly aware of the risks he faced, he was afraid of what the future held in store… and yet he'd turned down the opportunity to flee and save himself, because he believed that his big sister needed him. It wasn't the most sensible thing he'd ever done, but it was definitely the noblest, and she felt a sudden pang of affection for her younger sibling.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, little bro," she said, putting her arms around her brother's shoulders and hugging him, as hard as she could. "Not while I'm around."

"Yeah," said Jason, with a brave smile. "Glad I've got you looking out for me, sis."

"Mmm," Amber agreed.

She couldn't think of anything else to say. Jason was settling down into the couch cushions again, ready to sleep. She was tempted to use this as an excuse to get up and go to bed, but after what had happened tonight, and what he'd just said, there was no way she could leave his side now; instead, she stayed exactly where she was and let silence fill the room.

"Night, doofus," she heard Jason mumble.

"Night, gaylord," she replied.

"Hey," said Jason, sounding more drowsy this time, "lay off my word…"

Smiling, Amber let her heavy head fall against his, and closed her eyes. After so many unsubtle awakenings, it was a relief to be able to rest and know that she was safe, at least for now.

Her brother's breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm, which soon became a snore. Amber shifted her weight slightly on the couch and, opening her eyes momentarily as she did so, saw the gun that Barry had given her sitting on the coffee table, comfortably within her reach. The last thought that crossed her mind before she fell asleep was that, like the rest of the night's events, it was one hell of a parting gift from the STARS.


	17. What Little Remains

**17: What Little Remains**

Amber wasn't awake yet. She could feel herself beginning to emerge from sleep, but for now her consciousness was suspended in the warm, fuzzy state of semi-awareness that existed in between wakefulness and slumber.

She was entirely comfortable with this state of affairs. Being half-asleep meant that her thoughts were her own again, but she didn't have to bare her tired eyes to the world yet. She could just stay where she was and mull over what had happened last night.

What _had _happened last night? Something had troubled her sleep; some unpleasant and disturbing notion which she couldn't quite recall. She struggled with the half-remembered thought for a moment or two, then gave up. Shadows of the mind rarely survived daybreak, and the lingering suggestions of darkness they left behind them soon disappeared. Whatever it had been, it was gone now.

She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself curled up in bed and far from nightmares. Instead she found herself lying on the couch, barely awake, with one of her brother's feet lodged perilously close to her nose.

_Okay… not quite what I was expecting. Why am I on the couch? I guess I must have fallen asleep playing some stupid video game with Jason last night. No wonder my dreams were all screwed up. Doesn't matter though. None of it was real._

Satisfied with this explanation, she picked herself up from the couch and stood up, leaving Jason to turn over in his sleep. Of course there had been no zombie.

No Forensics clean-up, no locksmith, and no horrified STARS members watching a corpse disintegrate on her kitchen floor. It had been nothing more than a bad dream.

She caught sight of the gun on the coffee table and felt her breath draw itself in sharply. No, it hadn't. For a few joyful moments she'd thought she'd imagined the whole thing, but there was the evidence, as plain as day.

Evidence. She'd have to talk to Ruth. How soon could they start proving that the body had been infected with T-Virus?

With these troubling new thoughts clouding her head, Amber went through the doorway into the kitchen, trying not to blunder into the furniture along the way. She didn't feel at all well this morning. Sleep had come so fitfully and slightly that she might as well have stayed up all night for the difference it had made; her eyes ached, her head was sore and muzzy, and a night spent curled up on the couch had left her neck and shoulders full of cramp.

Today marked the second week of her confinement to desk duty, and the thought alone of all that paperwork was making her fatigue-shrivelled brain creak in protest. She was tempted to call in sick, but unfortunately for her exhausted body, her sense of duty won that particular tug of war. It wasn't the fault of her colleagues that she hadn't slept last night. Her unscheduled absence would mean extra work for all of them when they were already busy, and no amount of tiredness made that fair on them.

She went back into her bedroom to change into her uniform, emerging some minutes later with clean clothes and her hair tamed into something approaching compliance.

By then Jill had woken up, or at least managed to prop herself up at the kitchen table. She was still wearing the same rumpled clothes she'd slept in. Her eyes were ringed darkly with fatigue and she was clutching a mug of hot coffee as though it was the only consolation she had left in the world.

"Morning," she said, in flat tones. "Sleep well?"

Amber tried not to laugh hollowly, and failed. Unusually, Jill seemed to brighten at this disclosure.

"Me either," she said. "If you're half as tired as I am, then grab some coffee and get over here. I need someone to talk to me so I can stay awake. I really wish I hadn't changed my mind about taking today off."

"Why did you?" said Amber, as she poured herself some coffee and sat down in the adjacent chair.

Jill shrugged noncommittally.

"Didn't see the point. If I take the day off, then I won't get any work done."

"That's kind of the idea," said Amber.

"You _know _what I mean," replied Jill, a little touchily. "I've got too much to do at work and not enough to do at home. And if I don't go back today, the Chief will think he's scared me away and shut down the STARS department altogether. I can't let him do that. Not when I still have things I need to do here."

"Like what?"

Jill took a long swig of coffee.

"Don't ask. If you don't know, they can't beat it out of you."

"Good point," Amber agreed. "I've got enough to worry about as it is."

"Same. I'm just glad Barry's family are out of harm's way. He's been worrying about them ever since we got back from the mansion."

"Are they already in - ?"

Seeing Jill's warning look, Amber bit back the word "Canada" before it could escape. She realised straight away why Jill didn't want the location of Barry's wife and daughters spoken out loud. If an Umbrella agent had managed to gain access to her apartment, then it would have been all too easy for them to plant a bug somewhere. There was no indication that they'd done any such thing, of course, but why leave something that important to chance?

"They should be on their way there by now," Jill said, confirming the statement with a glance at her watch. "Barry called me early this morning to tell me they were leaving. He says he's going to follow Chris to the airport once he's packed his things."

"Is Chris ready to leave?" said Amber.

"Words like "Chris" and "ready" don't go together well," said Jill, with a knowing smirk. "He'll be up by now, but if I know him half as well as I think I do, then right now he's sitting in front of the TV in his shorts, eating cereal and watching re-runs of _Martians Stole My Lawnmower!_, or maybe _SportsWeek_ if he's feeling intellectual."

Had the mental image of Chris Redfield lounging around in his underwear not been quite so repellent, Amber might have laughed at this description. Instead she tried very hard not to think about what else Jill must have had to put up with during that brief relationship, and shifted her thoughts elsewhere.

"I can't believe there was a zombie in my kitchen," was all she could come up with, two or three minutes later. "My actual kitchen. I don't think I'll ever eat in here again."

"Well, Ruth and the guys cleaned it up for you pretty thoroughly," Jill pointed out. "There's no reason why you shouldn't."

Amber shuddered.

"I know, but just thinking about a dead guy being in my kitchen - "

"Dead people might not be hygienic, but I don't think there's a surface those guys didn't clean," said Jill. "From what I could tell, they disinfected the whole place while you were asleep."

Amber sniffed. Jill was right; there was a distinct hint of lemony freshness in the air.

"I still wonder how they got a zombie in here without anyone else noticing," she said, letting her gaze drift towards the window. "And how they made sure it couldn't bite anyone it wasn't supposed to beforehand."

"I hope it bit each and every one of the bastards who brought it here," said Jill venomously, and she slammed down her empty coffee mug for emphasis. "Right in the face."

She looked down, and added:

"You haven't touched your coffee."

"I know," said Amber. She was still looking at the window, listlessly watching the sunlight stream through the slats in the blinds.

"You need to eat something," chided Jill. "You were awake half the night. At least try and have some breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"Maybe you're not, but you have to eat," said Jill, as gently as she could. "If you're hungry and tired, then how are you going to do your job? The people of Raccoon City are going to rely on you to protect them now that we're on our way out. You're the only cop left in the precinct that knows what's going on."

"I'm starting to wonder whether all this is worth it," Amber said, with a long sigh. "After all we've been through to try and expose Umbrella, we're still getting nowhere. I don't know why they're bothering to keep us quiet. Most of the town thinks we're crazy, and the rest are too scared of stirring up trouble to admit we're right. Why are we still trying to warn everybody when we already know they won't listen to us?"

"Because it has to be done and nobody else has the guts to do it," said Jill. "I know, I hate it too, but it's part of the job. Half the people out there don't have any idea what we go through for their sake, and the other half don't give a damn, but that doesn't mean we should stop trying to help them. We're not in this for the gratitude."

"I know," said Amber unhappily. "I just wish I knew what the hell I'm going to do once you guys are gone. I mean, me versus Umbrella and a whole town that doesn't believe what they're doing? The odds aren't exactly loaded in my favour, are they? I know everyone's relying on me to stop them, and I want to, but…"

Amber tried to finish the sentence, but the rest of it was stuck in the back of her throat and wouldn't come out. It was a horrible admission, one that struck her cold, and she didn't want to say the words because the truth of them terrified her. On the other hand, she knew better than most that there was no hiding from the truth, and so she said exactly what was on her mind.

"I don't think I can, Jill. We're running out of time. There are more attacks every day, and the reports say they're getting closer to home. If people don't start listening to us now, then pretty soon there won't be anybody left out there to listen. I feel like Umbrella's won already and I'm just shouting at an empty city."

Jill looked sympathetic.

"I know how you feel," she said, patting her friend's hand. "But doubt isn't a good enough reason to stop trying. You might not think you can do it, but you'd be surprised how many people think otherwise."

"Like who?"

"Like me, and Chris, and Barry," said Jill. "And your brother, too. He's got a lot of faith in you."

"Who else?"

"Umbrella."

Amber had been preparing her next response, anticipating something trite and well-meaning from someone who didn't want her to be upset, but she hadn't expected an answer that would throw her so completely. Clever retorts all forgotten, she could only gape in amazement.

"What?"

Jill's smile was beginning to take on a darker quality. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that there was a will of steel beneath all those layers of altruism. Her friend's determination to succeed was easily eclipsed by her kindness, but it was still there underneath it all, ready to come into play at a moment's notice.

"You heard," she said, still smiling. "Umbrella is a multi-national corporation with billions of dollars in the bank, and they're much, much bigger than you are. Why would they be going after you unless they saw you as a threat? Even if you don't have them running scared yet, you've got them worried enough to start planning counter-attacks. That's something, right?"

"I guess so," said Amber, still a little reluctant to let go of her reservations. Was Jill right, or was she so desperate to see Umbrella fall that she'd entrust the job of taking them down in her absence to anyone who believed in the cause, no matter how hopelessly inept and inexperienced they were?

"No, you _know _so," Jill corrected her. "Whatever you're doing, you're doing it right, because they're getting angry, and pretty soon they're going to start making mistakes. After that, it's only a matter of time before we can take them down for good."

"I don't feel like I'm doing things right," Amber confessed. "I feel like I'm about two steps away from getting myself killed."

"I know it might not seem like you're getting anywhere, but keep trying," Jill urged her. "If nobody stands up to Umbrella, then we'll never beat them. And besides," she added, with a glint in her eye, "I want to see you wipe the floor with those bastards."

She reached across the table and grasped Amber's hand in hers.

"You're smart enough and strong enough to come out on top, Amb," she told her, looking her straight in the eye. "You are. And I _know _you can do this. Just don't give up, okay?"

Amber's smile hadn't quite reached her face yet, but she was already starting to feel better, sharper, and more prepared to face Umbrella again. Jill was the best kind of person to have around at times like these. Her sympathy lasted for as long as you needed it to, but she had no truck with self-pity and wasted no time in telling you to snap out of it if she thought you were feeling sorry for yourself.

"_Commiserating with people will only get them so far through the hard times,"_ she remembered Jill saying once. "_If they want a happy ending, it's up to them to fight for it."_

Amber almost nodded in agreement with the memory. Though there was unlikely to be a happy ending on the horizon, the people of Raccoon City deserved a brighter future than the one they currently seemed to have in store. If she wanted to see things get better then it looked as though it was up to her to make it happen.

"Okay," she said, giving Jill's hand a squeeze. "I won't give up. But I'm still going to need some help. There's only so much I can do on my own."

Jill gave a nod.

"You're right. We need to find someone from outside STARS who can help us. Get some paper, we'll make a list."

Retracting her hand from that of her friend, Amber got out her police notebook and a pen, and placed both on the table. Jill flipped the notebook open at an empty page.

"All right, who do you think would be interested in helping us stop Umbrella?" she said.

"If people knew what they were actually doing? Everybody. Who wouldn't?"

"True, but like you said, most people either don't know or don't believe us. We're looking at people who do know what's happening and want to stop it, or people who might be inclined to help even if they aren't entirely sure what's going on yet."

"Even if they don't believe us?"

"It's not optimal," said Jill. "We _want _them to believe us. On the other hand, I don't think this is a good time to be excessively choosy about our friends. If we're talking about a company which doesn't care and only wants in so we can take out their business rival for them, then obviously we rule them out. We don't want to set the city up with someone just as bad as Umbrella. But if we're talking about groups who'd be willing to help if we can prove that Umbrella's been killing people, even if they're a little sceptical about actual zombies, then I don't see the harm."

"Good point. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Well, we can rule out the Mayor. Umbrella's been bankrolling his regeneration projects for years. He's not going to be happy about us taking away his piggybank."

"And the Chief," supplied Amber.

"Definitely the Chief," Jill agreed. "No questions about that."

"So who canwe ask?"

"Jeff Lonsdale would be good. He hates Umbrella."

"You really think he'd help us?"

"I don't see why not. If you can trust Tim enough to confide in him sometime, I bet he could talk him round to the idea. He and his grandpa are pretty close from what I've heard."

"Okay, that's a start," said Amber, as Jill wrote down the name. "Anyone else?"

"Uh…"

"Oh wait, I've got one. How about Hitoki Ohnishi?"

"You mean the home electronics firm? Didn't Spencer try to snap them up last year? Some kind of leveraged buyout bid?"

"Yeah, I remember Mr Ohnishi was pretty pissed about it. Maybe he'd be interested in hearing what we've got to say."

"I'm sure he'd be very interested in hearing that we've got dirt on Umbrella. Whether he'll believe us is another matter entirely. He might not take us seriously enough to put his name down for this."

"Okay, so we put him down as a maybe. Who else?"

"Hmm. How about…"

xxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes later, Amber was on her way to work, with her parting words to her brother still echoing in her ears:

"_Don't let anybody in except me. Not even anyone you know. Just me, okay? If I need to send anyone over to see you, like Jill or Brad, I'll call you to let you know. But if you're in any doubt at all, call the precinct and ask me. I won't get mad at you for calling me at work, I promise._"

For once, Jason had accepted her instructions without question. The previous night had clearly made him realise how seriously he needed to take security from now on. He'd even suggested that he practise jumping out through the bathroom window so he could rehearse his emergency escape route, but thankfully Amber had managed to talk him out of the idea before he could take his newfound enthusiasm for contingency planning too far.

She'd left home early in an attempt to beat the rush hour traffic, but though it had started out as a fairly quiet run, cars had started flooding into downtown from all directions and within minutes her usual route had been rendered all but impassable. She'd turned round, hoping to find another way out of St James East, but this had only made things worse, and now she and her graffiti-covered car were both stuck in a long queue of fuming commuters, surrounded by the sound of car horns and indignant shouting.

"Come on!"

"Move it!"

"Hurry up, I'm late for work!"

"Quit digging up the damn road!"

Amber sighed. Her early advantage had been squandered at the last set of lights and time was ticking away fast. Unfortunately, it didn't look like she was going anywhere soon. There were workmen digging a large hole in part of the road up ahead, for some reason that had yet to become apparent, and a red light had brought the remaining lanes of traffic to a complete standstill.

With nothing else to do but wait for the roads to clear, she turned on the radio.

"_Tell me why…_" sang the band currently playing on Gold FM, a local radio station which played hits from bygone decades.

"I don't like Mondays," muttered Amber, right on cue, and switched over to the next station.

_Click._

"_You're listening to K-Jazz!_"

"Not today."

_Click._

"_Can YOU get a better deal on YOUR car insurance?_"

"Probably."

_Click._

"… _after I divorced my fifth husband, I decided that there must be more to life than money, so I set up my own holistic health spa in - "_

"Who cares?"

_Click._

"_If you're listening to DJ Killer Kay's Breakfast Show, you must have stayed up all night, because this is Rock 303 and we know you guys NEVER stop partying! That's why we're the only station in town that keeps those killer riffs coming 24/7... we'll be right back after these messages…_"

Amber gave up. The next station on the dial was the Mexican talk radio station, and her high-school Spanish was hopelessly inadequate for the task of keeping up with whatever the top-speed discussions were about. She leaned back in her seat and let the advertisements on Rock 303 carry on without her.

"… _okay, listeners, you've been asking about this one all morning, so here it is, the latest hit from Raccoon City's very own home-grown rock stars!_" chattered the DJ, as the last commercial ended. "_If you don't know already, these guys are performing live at the Arcadia on September 29th, so if you haven't got your tickets yet… what are you waiting for? This is Big E, with their new single, "Shark Attack". Enjoy!_"

The traffic started moving again, and Amber breathed out. She glanced both ways, then moved forward, pressing gently down on the accelerator pedal to bring her speed up again and send her into the next city district.

It was another beautiful day outside, clear-skied and sunny, already promising to be hot despite the weather forecasters' gloomy predictions of rain. There were hints of new beginnings in the air too, and this filled her heart with hope. Perhaps today would be the day that every Umbrella building on the planet mysteriously and spontaneously combusted, causing untold damage and forcing the corporation to cease trading indefinitely…

"… _that was Big E and "Shark Attack", from their new album, "Death Rays and Dinosaurs", available in all good music stores on CD and cassette. Next up, we've got a special live track from our unsigned band of the week, but first, here's Sarah-Jayne with the news."_

"_In our first top story today, Mayor Michael Warren announced that preparations are now underway for the annual Michael Festival pageant, with twelve local organisations and over a thousand people expected to take part in this year's Mayor's Parade. The theme for this year is Science and Technology, so if you're thinking of entering the fancy dress competition, it's time to get your thinking caps on!"_

Amber rolled her eyes. It sounded as though Umbrella's sponsorship was going to be all over this event - as though it wasn't obvious enough that the company all but ran this town already. She drove on, half-listening to the newsreader as she made her way through downtown.

"… _despite promises to ease congestion in the Central City area, traffic levels have reached an all-time high, with road rage incidents up 5% on last year's figures. Parking is also becoming a major issue for downtown residents, but so far Chief Irons has declined to comment on reports that careless parking near the police station has been exacerbating the problem."_

"Well there's a big surprise," Amber said sarcastically.

"_Moving on to entertainment, notorious burlesque artist Lola Las Vegas is still on tour with her new show, "Viva La Lola!", and due to perform at Raccoon City's Purple Puma Club later tonight. Expected to join her is her friend and contemporary Scarlett Glamour, one-time adult movie star and leader of the Lipstick Girls dance troupe. Local residents have protested but the Mayor seems to think the show must go on - he was recently quoted as saying that the event will encourage tourism in the city."_

"So much for the crackdown on the sex trade," said Amber, shaking her head.

Prostitution had been rife in downtown for years. Chief Irons and the Mayor had attempted to stamp it out earlier in the summer by announcing new measures to combat the problem, but their efforts had backfired spectacularly when a mob of strippers, call girls and exotic dancers descended upon City Hall to stage a protest. Windows had been broken, several city officials had barricaded themselves in their offices, and the Mayor's son had turned up "to help" by taking two of the girls home with him, though not before the police had been called to disperse the conga line that had formed along the street. The whole incident had been deeply embarrassing for the Chief and Mayor, who had been forced to back down after being cornered by a dominatrix, a male stripper and three women dressed as nurses - and to add insult to their injured pride, there now appeared to be more business taking place in the red-light district than ever before.

"_In other news, leading Raccoon City businessman Jeffrey Lonsdale has died," _announced the newsreader, as Amber crossed the invisible boundary between Central City and Coburg. _"The founder of the Lonsdale Corporation was found unconscious at home in the early hours of this morning and rushed to hospital, where doctors pronounced him dead on arrival. His family have been informed and the police are not treating the death as suspicious. He was 76."_

Amber's eyes widened.

"Shit!"

The car gave an indignant screech as her foot slammed down on the brake pedal, and it stopped just short of the line. Looking up at the red light more out of habit than concentration, Amber sat and struggled to digest what she'd just heard.

Jeffrey Lonsdale, the philanthropic owner and founder of the financial corporation that bore his name, had been right at the top of the list of possible allies that she and Jill had drawn up earlier. Wealthy, hugely respected, and known for his intense dislike of Umbrella and its predatory business practices, Mr Lonsdale's backing would have been invaluable. Now he was gone, and as his wife, Sylvia, had died some years previously, his sons would be next in line to inherit the family fortune. Playboy billionaire Martin was notorious for his party lifestyle, spending the family money as freely as his father had given it away, while his frugal younger brother Dennis bought his suits second-hand and was rumoured to pick up stray dimes from the sidewalk. Neither of them were likely to want to spend large amounts of time, effort and cash in taking the biggest company in town to court - much less find and shut down a bioweapons programme that wasn't even supposed to exist.

This was one hell of a setback. On the other hand, there was nothing she could do about it. She'd just have to find some other way of drumming up support. In the meantime, the lights had changed and there would be hell to pay if she didn't get to work soon. Amber breathed out the tension, then let the flow of traffic sweep her away.

"… _thanks, Sarah-Jayne, that's awesome news for the Sharks! Let's hope their lucky streak won't end yet," _said the DJ brightly._ "The next track is by Raging Skull, our unsigned band of the week. This is "What Little Remains", a live recording from their "Ultimate Brutality" tour back in May. Rock on!"_

Amber arrived at the precinct a few minutes later, with the radio still blaring heavy metal, and swept into the underground parking lot.

It was very nearly full; only one or two spaces remained towards the far end. The nearest space was next to the Chief's sleek black luxury car, but she decided that the temptation to "accidentally" reverse into the Chief's pride and joy whilst parking would be far too great. Instead, she opted for the other space, which was next to a brilliant red sports car.

She recognised the vehicle right away. The scarlet Henriksson KR6 S-Type belonged to Tim, the only person in the force who could possibly afford one. Small local car manufacturer Henriksson SG had been renowned for its supercars until the last recession had forced its owners into bankruptcy. Always an exclusive brand, Henrikssons were now so rare and highly prized by collectors that an owner looking to sell one wouldn't even consider an offer of under a million dollars.

Tim Lonsdale was a lucky guy, she reflected, as she parked up and put on the handbrake. Or, at least, he had been until today's news broke. What would become of him now, she wasn't quite so sure.

"… _that was "Heaven In Vain" by Love Dies Slowly. Aaaaand that's it from Killer Kay for today! But don't worry guys, you can keep on rocking with Lara Larsen on the Late Risers Breakfast Show, right after a few words from our sponsors - "_

Amber switched off the radio and closed her eyes for a moment, then she removed the keys from the ignition and got out of the car. Locking it behind her, Amber crossed the parking lot and opened the connecting door into the precinct. She made her way through the basement level, then up the stairs, through the corridors and then the calm haven of the east office. A look at her watch hastened her step, and her sudden consciousness of the time hurried her across the bustling lobby and into the west office.

If she hadn't already known what had happened, then the sight that met her eyes would have told her straight away that something was amiss. Instead of sitting in their usual places, everybody in the room had crowded around Tim, who was sitting, ashen-faced, at his desk.

"Hey man, you okay?" Kevin was saying.

"Oh Tim, I'm so sorry," said Rita, hugging him.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" said Marvin.

"Maybe you should take the day off," Bob suggested.

"Yeah, you should go spend some time with your family or something," Elliot agreed.

"No," said Tim bleakly. "No, it's all right. I'm better off here than at home. I don't want to go back and - and have to deal with all that right now. I'd rather stay and keep busy. It'll take my mind off things."

There were nods from all around him.

"Sure."

"Yeah."

"As long as you're okay, that's fine by us."

"You sure you'll be all right, Tim?"

"I'll be fine," said Tim, gently brushing Rita away. "Thanks, guys."

"No problem."

"Any time, buddy."

As they gradually dispersed, returning to their desks, Tim looked up and saw Amber standing at the other end of the room.

"Hey," he said, without a trace of his usual cheer. "You heard the news?"

"Yeah, I heard," Amber said sympathetically. "It was on the radio this morning. I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim sighed.

"Don't be," he said. "To tell you the truth, I've been expecting this for a while. Grandpa's had heart trouble for years and he never really got over that attack back in the spring. Mom and Dad said he was doing well, but he's been in and out of hospital a lot lately, and… well, you know when someone's sick and they aren't going to get better. I guess they didn't want to say it in front of me."

"They probably didn't want to upset you," said Amber.

"Yeah," said Tim, trying to smile. "You're right. Mom hates seeing people upset and Dad doesn't really know how to deal with bad news. They had to get Uncle Martin to call me this morning and let me know."

"Have you set a date for the funeral?" said Amber, adding quickly, "Sorry, I know it's a little soon to ask. I only wanted to know so I can ask for the day off. Your grandpa was a good guy and I'd like to pay my respects."

"Dad said they're scheduling it for the 29th," said Tim. "Funeral's at St Ignatius, then the board of directors are putting up a memorial plaque in Lonsdale Yard. If you want to come along, you're more than welcome. I was actually kind of hoping you'd ask."

"You were?" said Amber.

"Yeah," Tim said, shifting a little uncomfortably. "I hate funerals. Kevin can't make it and Rita's working, and Marvin says he and Lilly are away for the weekend, so it might just be you and me. You don't mind, do you? Only I could really use the company…"

August 29th. That was Saturday. She could get the day off if she really needed it, but she'd have to get rid of all the paperwork on her desk first, and that would take a massive effort on her part. On the other hand, Tim didn't look as though he was taking the news as well as he was trying to. Having a friend to support him would make all the difference to how well he coped with the funeral, even if she just stood there and said nothing. Sometimes, as her mother had once told her, all you had to do to make things better for people was to be there by their side.

"I'll be there, Tim," she promised. "And if you need anything in the meantime, just ask, okay?"

Tim gave a short nod and lowered his eyes, keeping his face from view. Not wanting to upset him when he was clearly making a concerted effort to maintain his composure, Amber said no more and took her place at her desk.

"Morning, Joseph," she said to the framed picture sitting beside her paperwork. She picked it up, kissed it, and set the picture back in its place. Joseph's cheerful smile remained as static as ever, but as the faint traces of her breath on the glass faded away, she could almost have sworn that his smile broadened momentarily.

"Okay," she announced, primarily to the paperwork sitting on her desk. "I think it's about time I got started..."

Before she could even put pen to paper, however, the office phone started to ring. Whoever had used the cordless phone last had left it on her desk. Her first instinct was to pick it up, but Amber reminded herself that there was no need for her to answer it. Confined as she was to desk duty, with no cases to work on, it was highly unlikely that anyone would be calling to ask her anything.

Kevin, who happened to be passing, picked it up instead.

"West Office… hey, David. What? No, it's me, Kevin. Sorry, man, I think you've got a bad line. You outside or something? … uh-huh. So who did you want to speak to? Oh, okay. Yeah, she's here. Amber?"

Amber looked up from the form she was about to fill in.

"Yeah?"

"Call for you. It's David."

Amber frowned.

"David? I thought he was on patrol this morning. What does he want?"

"Beats me. Why don't you ask him?"

"Okay."

Amber took the phone from Kevin, who promptly wandered off in the direction of the lockers.

"Hey, David," she said. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"_Yeah, Amy and I just got called out to the edge of town, down by the river,_" said the voice of David McGraw in her ear. It sounded crackly and faint, almost on the verge of disappearing altogether. "_You know the girl who got killed by the trolley about a week ago? The one whose arm went missing from the morgue? Well, some guy who was fishing here this morning just got a pretty interesting catch… severed human arm, looks like it's been in the water for a few days. We think it might be hers._"

Amber tried to stifle a gasp. Bethany's arm had been found. Whoever had stolen it must have dumped it in the river, but why, when so many people went fishing along that stretch?

"Good work, David, but shouldn't you be telling Kevin this?" she said, slightly perplexed as to why he'd asked to speak to her. "He's your partner on that case, not me."

"_That's true, but I thought you might like to know,_" David replied. "_I know you've been fretting about it, so I figured I'd tell you and put your mind at rest. We'll get the arm back to the station as soon as we can so Doc Fenton can ID it and let the family know."_

Amber smiled.

"That's great. Thanks. By the way, are there any signs of a bullet wound on it?"

"_No_, _can't see anything like that," _reported David, after a slight pause,_ "but like I said, it's been in the water for a few days now. There's a patch of flesh missing and the rest is starting to look pretty nasty. Kind of hard to make out any injuries or distinguishing marks._"

That was it, then. All the thief had needed to do was remove the damaged tissue from the area of the bullet wound to hide any evidence of the injury. After that, it didn't matter if the arm was found. No apparent link to Umbrella involvement could be conclusively drawn if there was no proof that one of their lackeys had shot at Bethany Rove before she died.

"Okay," said Amber, her hopes suddenly dashed. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll tell Dr Fenton you're on your way."

"_Great. Talk to you later._"

The line went dead. Amber hung up, setting the phone back down on her desk, and returned to work, with the prospect of seeing Bethany's arm reunited with its owner now overshadowed by the fact that the limb was unlikely to be of any use as evidence in the case. If it was indeed Bethany's arm, of course, then it wasn't all bad news - it meant the poor girl could finally be buried and her relatives given the closure they needed.

Unlike the missing appendage, however, Amber was determined to see that the truth behind Bethany Rove's death wasn't about to go to the grave with her. She just needed some time to figure out what to do next…

xxxxxxxxxx

"Interesting findings," said Ruth, running the tip of her tongue along the edge of her teeth.

She smiled thinly.

"_Very _interesting."

Amber looked down at the workbench. It was scrupulously neat; amongst the items laid out on the surface were a rack of labelled test-tubes, some strips of what appeared to be litmus paper, a microscope and some slides, various scientific instruments, a pen and notebook, and some spare evidence bags, as yet unused.

"So what did the tests show, exactly?" she said.

"Hard to say," came the answer. "We're still running most of them. This isn't like the cop shows on TV, Amber. Forensic results can take days to come back, sometimes weeks, depending on what you're looking for. If you'd paid attention back at the academy, you'd know that."

Amber winced. It was true that she was no expert on forensic analysis. She'd tried, and she'd definitely paid attention, but she hadn't always understood the many complexities of the field, and a lot of what she had understood had been forgotten long ago. The strange alchemy of extracting DNA, identifying unknowable substances and revealing invisible stains and fingerprints was something she preferred to leave to the experts, whose innate understanding of blood spatters, trajectories and chemical compounds had always left her standing open-mouthed at the sidelines of crime scenes.

"All right then," she said, rallying, "what have you found so far?"

"So far? Well, they're human remains, we've been able to determine that much. We found some fragments of teeth and bone in the, uh, ashes. Unidentified adult male, we're guessing roughly mid-thirties. Unsure about the _exact _cause of death, we're still working on that, but Milo noticed some abnormalities under the microscope."

"Abnormalities?"

"He says he's found some unusual-looking cells deep in the tissue structure, possibly some kind of virus, though the disintegration process that the cadaver went through post-mortem is making it hard for him to identify the type. He says he's never seen anything like it before."

Amber's heart jumped. That was the T-Virus. They'd actually admitted that the body had been infected with something they couldn't recognise…

"Is the virus still active?" she said, looking around nervously at the workbenches and the people working patiently around them. "It can't infect anybody, can it?"

"No, he says the cells are dead," said Ruth. "He doesn't think there's anything dangerous left, but he's working in the Haz-Mat room for now and until he can give me a categoric no, he's going to stay there. If there's even the slightest risk of contagion then I don't want it being spread all over the station."

_Thank God for Ruth and the way she thinks of everything,_ Amber thought. Out loud, she said:

"You guys are pretty thorough."

"Of course we're thorough, it's our _job_," said Ruth peevishly. "No evidence, no case. Why the hell do you think we're so careful down here?"

Amber held up her hands.

"Okay, point taken. I'm sorry. I'm not doubting you. I'm just surprised how you manage to get everything covered like this."

"Believe me, so am I," said Ruth, sighing. "The amount we have to do in this substandard shoe-box of a building, I'm amazed we get anything done at all. I assume you want me to keep you posted if we find anything else?"

"Yes, please. That would be wonderful."

"All right then. Anything in particular you want to know?"

"What that virus is, whether or not it killed the guy, and how long he's been dead. And if you could dig up any more information on how the hell he found his way into my apartment in the first place, I'd be really, really impressed."

"Got it. We'll do our best, Amber. I can't promise you anything more than that."

"Thanks. Can you do me one favour, though?"

Ruth looked wary.

"Maybe," she said. "Depends. What did you have in mind?"

"Can you keep the evidence you got from my place locked up in the safe? Only I have a feeling that this could go missing if it isn't kept under lock and key."

"Like the other stuff did?"

"Exactly."

"All right. I'll make sure the paperwork goes in the safe. The samples can't, though. Test results, photographs, documents, they're all fine, but no samples. They're a potential biohazard, and apart from anything else, they'll degrade if they're not stored properly. I don't want to risk ruining them or cross-contaminating anything else we keep in there."

"Thanks, Ruth. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, catch you later."

Amber was disappointed by this outcome, as she closed the doors of the Forensics building behind her, but she had to agree that it all made sense. The Forensics team wouldn't know much more until their tests came back, and if storing the samples in the safe meant contaminating the other evidence and, potentially, rendering it useless, then it couldn't be done.

Nevertheless, it was irritating to know that the safety of something that would conclusively prove the presence of T-Virus couldn't be guaranteed. Accompanying paperwork would mean nothing if the samples went missing; a defence lawyer could just claim that they'd made the whole thing up and with no supporting evidence to suggest otherwise, the case would be thrown out of court. If that happened, Umbrella would file a countersuit for defamation and win extensive damages, and then…

"Oh!"

Amber staggered backwards, and looked up at the person she'd just bumped into. It turned out to be two people - moreover, the last two people she'd expected to see in front of her.

"Chris? Barry?" she said, astonished. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd already left town!"

"Leaving imminently," said Chris, checking his watch. "Like in the next five minutes. We just came back to say goodbye to everyone else and check on you before we left."

"Yeah, Jill said you'd be here," agreed Barry. "Saw you coming out of Forensics a moment ago. Our buddy Dracula didn't come back from the dead, did he?"

Amber shook her head.

"No. Still dusty."

"Good," said Barry, with profound sincerity. "I hope he stays that way."

"Did Ruth and the others find anything?" said Chris.

"Yes and no," answered Amber.

Chris cocked an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they're still waiting for most of their test results, so they can't say for sure," said Amber. "They haven't identified John Doe yet and they don't know what killed him, or when he died. But one of the Forensics guys thinks he's spotted traces of virus in some of the tooth and bone fragments they found in the remains. He doesn't know what kind, but I have a pretty definite feeling it's going to be the T-Virus."

Chris punched the air in delight.

"Yes! We have proof this time!"

"Not yet we don't," warned Barry, laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder to rein in his enthusiasm. "We don't know for sure what they've found, Chris. I wouldn't start shouting out about it just yet."

"But it probably is, right?" said Chris eagerly, turning to look up at Barry. "I mean, if it isn't, what else is it going to be? The guy was a zombie! You don't turn into one of those by catching a cold… no, it has to be the T-Virus. If they've found it, then they've proved us right. Amber, you have to make sure they keep that evidence safe, okay? Go back and tell Ruth to put it in that new safe of hers."

"Way ahead of you, Chris," said Amber. "She already said she would. The only thing she can't put in there are the samples, because they're a biohazard and she has to store them separately."

"But those get locked up anyway," Barry cut in, before Chris' face had time to start falling. "That's okay, they should be secure there. And even if those go missing, they'll have photographs and other evidence proving the samples existed. Well done, Amber. Glad to see you've got it covered. Chris and I can breathe a little easier knowing we've got you and Jill to take care of things while we're away."

"We'll do our best," said Amber.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Barry said heartily. "Well, best get going. Take care, Amber. We'll see you when we get back."

They exchanged farewells once more, and the two men turned round to head back the way they'd come. Amber watched them go, then made her way back from the Forensics outbuilding to the main precinct building.

She looked back. Chris and Barry were almost out of sight now, and no longer within hearing distance, though they appeared to be talking about something. She wondered what they were discussing, but ignored the sudden urge to run up and ask them, or to bid them goodbye again and wish them even more luck with their mission. Good luck and a safe journey had already been wished; repeating the same sentiments again would serve little useful purpose.

Why did she want to go back? Were there really things left unsaid that needed saying, or was it because the last time she'd wished a STARS member goodbye and good luck with his mission, he'd never returned?

Goodbye, and good luck. The words seemed to ring so hollow in her ears. She watched Chris and Barry disappear from view, then clasped her hands together tightly and prayed soundlessly, with all her might, that this wouldn't turn out to be the last time she saw either of them alive.

xxxxxxxxxx

**Saturday 29th August, 1998**

St Ignatius & All Angels was the kind of building that commanded awe from the moment you stepped inside. It was said to have the finest set of stained glass windows in town, and the rest of its architecture was no less splendid. Grand pillars and arches that would have jostled for space in a smaller church were accommodated with ease, and carved angels looked down benignly from every piece of stonework.

Amber had come here once, years ago, to attend a family friend's wedding. Most of the recollections she'd taken away with her involved thrown bouquets and kisses exchanged in a shower of confetti, but her abiding memory of the church itself had been the sunlight and the way it cast so many colours through the windows, filling the whole church with a heavenly lightness and sense of peace that she'd never seen or felt since.

This was very different from the place she remembered. Shadows and faint whispers of noise were everywhere, and the sky outside was so dark with clouds that the windows were struggling to admit daylight, leaving the magnificent arches and angels shrouded in gloom. Moreover, there were what Tim had termed "media vultures" circling outside - reporters and photographers, waiting eagerly to photograph high-profile mourners as they emerged from the church. Public interest or not, there was something distasteful about the local press intruding on a funeral, and Amber felt sorry for the Lonsdales. At times like these, riches were poor compensation indeed for privacy and peace.

She had done her best to listen to the priest's reading, but the church's high vaulted ceiling seemed to fill the nave with so many echoes that at times it was all but impossible to make out what he was saying. Instead, Amber looked straight ahead at the altar and tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. The service had been well-attended by the late Mr Lonsdale's wealthy business associates, all impeccably and expensively-attired, and she felt as though each and every one of them was staring at her in silent distaste.

In an effort to distract herself, Amber looked across the aisle and saw that the pew on the opposite side currently housed the Mayor and his family. Michael and Sheryl Warren were, as always, a mismatched pair; Mayor Warren was dressed sombrely in a dark suit and overcoat, but he looked like a bedraggled little crow next to his wife, whose voluminous black dress bore a closer resemblance to a tent than haute couture. Their son, Tony, was wearing a leather jacket over his rumpled suit and looked bored, as though he'd been badgered into attending. His sister Beverley looked more respectable in her neat little black dress and matching hat, but she, too, seemed distracted. Amber couldn't really blame her for this, given that Chief Irons was sitting on the girl's right. Had she been in Beverley's place, the close proximity of the Chief would have been enough to make her put up her hand and ask if she could sit next to the deceased instead.

Amber suppressed a shudder, and returned her gaze to the open casket at the front of the church. Surrounded by a sea of flowers, the late Jeffrey Lonsdale looked serene and at peace. Only the stillness and the slight sheen of funeral home make-up prevented the casual observer from thinking that he might wake up at any moment.

Panic seized her from the inside. Oh no. What if he did? What if the old man suddenly sat up and decided to wreak havoc at his own funeral by eating the guests? What if he went on the rampage and she had to shoot Tim's beloved grandfather right in front of him? Would Tim ever forgive her?

She held her breath for a second or two as the priest approached the casket, half-expecting a cold, pale hand to shoot out and grasp wildly at his vestments. Only when the priest continued intoning the funeral rites, and it became apparent that Mr Lonsdale had departed from the world of the living, did she realise what a stupid and irrational thought it was. The poor man had died from a heart attack, not a zombie bite. How and why would he rise from the dead?

She felt a little ashamed of herself, because a tiny part of her had been yearning to prove to a large gathering of people that zombies were definitely real, even at the expense of the solemnity of the service. What a horrible thing to think, when so many people had gathered here to pray that Jeffrey Lonsdale's soul would rest in peace, that she might have turned up just to make sure that his corpse didn't have other ideas.

_You're here to pay your respects and look after Tim, remember? Not to think horrible morbid thoughts like that. Mr Lonsdale might be dead, but he isn't going to hurt anybody. Now find something else to think about and try to look religious._

But she wasn't religious, at least not in the traditional sense of the word, and she was neither wealthy nor a Lonsdale. No wonder everybody was looking at her. She didn't belong here. The only reason she was here at all was because of Tim…

Her friend, Tim. She'd first met him two days after starting work at the precinct. A recent recruit himself, he'd been introduced to her as "the newest member of the union", though Tim had been quick to point out that the tiny Raccoon Police Rights Association was more of a lobby group than an actual union - unions were discouraged and picketing for higher wages rarely worked anyway, he'd explained, whereas a great deal could be achieved by simply pestering the Chief for more money until he gave in. Tim's cheerful, straightforward approach to life at the precinct had soon won her over; charisma, it seemed, was something that ran in the family.

Her introduction to the rest of the Lonsdale clan had been at a police charity event later in the year, and although she'd only seen Tim's parents once or twice since then, they hadn't changed much. Dennis Lonsdale had the same look of grave earnestness about him, and his wife, Gloria, was just as Amber remembered her; a glamorous, slightly neurotic blonde, renowned in social circles for her elegance, her skill as a hostess, and her near-obsessive devotion to her husband and sons. She'd also met Jimmy Lonsdale, Tim's devil-may-care younger brother, who had the same boyish good looks and laid-back charm as Tim but made no secret of preferring fun to responsibility.

Amber hadn't met Tim's uncle before today, but Martin Lonsdale had turned out to be an older, more rakish version of Tim's brother, with a carefully solemn expression of the kind that was probably only brought out for funerals. She got the impression that the minute the service was over, he'd leap straight back into his sports car and zoom off in search of fine wine, girls and gambling, all thoughts of solemnity instantly forgotten.

In that respect, he and his nephew Jimmy seemed to be kindred spirits. Tim, on the other hand, bore more of a resemblance to his sensible father. The only thing that father and son didn't have in common, it seemed, was their approach to mourning. Tim's father was sitting up straight, tight-lipped and emotionless. In contrast, Tim was hunched over with his head in his hands, being comforted by his mother.

"You okay, Tim?" Amber whispered.

Tim didn't answer. Gloria Lonsdale patted her son's back comfortingly, then looked up and met Amber's gaze.

"He'll be okay," she whispered back. "Thank you, Amber. I know how difficult it must have been for you to find time to attend, because we know how busy the police are right now, but we really appreciate you coming to support Tim like this. It means a lot to us."

"Yeah, glad you could make it," said Jimmy, leaning across the pew to agree. His suit was almost as rumpled as Tony Warren's, but Amber suspected that this was more down to artful dishevelment than mere scruffiness. It took a lot of effort and expensive tailoring to look that casual. "Great to see you again, don't think we've seen you since you hooked up with what's-his-name - "

"Joseph," muttered Tim, from between his hands. "He's dead, Jim. I warned you three times not to bring that up."

Jimmy's expression grew apologetic.

"Sorry, Amber, I forgot," he said sheepishly. "What happened?"

"He was killed on a STARS mission," said Amber, and she looked towards the centre of the church again.

Jimmy looked startled.

"No way," he said. "What, was it an accident or something?"

"Jimmy! I already told you, shut up!" Tim hissed.

"Quiet down, you two," Dennis Lonsdale ordered. "This is your grandfather's funeral, so show some respect. Especially you, James. This is no time for idle chatter. Sit down and pay attention."

Jimmy looked sulky, but complied and sat down. Tim kept his head buried in his hands; Dennis Lonsdale stared stonily ahead, while his wife, looking pensive, carried on patting Tim's back as though she didn't know what else to do to make things right.

Twisting the strap of her handbag in her hands, Amber shifted in her seat again and wished she was anywhere else but here. She felt so damn _awkward_, sitting here like this. She'd wanted to find out if the Lonsdale Corporation was still a possible ally in the war against Umbrella, but there was no way she could bring the matter up at a time like this. Even if she could have asked, there was no guarantee that the kindly family founder's opposition to Umbrella had been passed on to his descendants. Possibly even the reverse. If it wasn't for Tim, and respect for the late Mr Lonsdale, she might well have been tempted to give up on the whole event and walk away.

Everyone else around her suddenly stood up. Startled and a little embarrassed, Amber shot to her feet, and realised shortly afterwards that this was because it was time for the next prayer in the service. Mumbling its unfamiliar words along with the rest of the congregation as, beside her, Tim tried to keep it together long enough to speak, Amber's eyes fell upon the nearest window, above and to her left.

The weather had been fine for most of the morning, but now it was starting to rain. It looked as though the week's sunny spell was finally coming to an end, fulfilling the forecasters' prophecies of approaching storms. That was one hell of a metaphor for what was happening to Raccoon City. Things had been so good up until now, and now… well, the future was uncertain at best. It probably didn't have a great deal to offer except trouble and strife.

Water was trickling down the windows, leaking from the drainpipe that ran around the church and streaming like tears down the intricately-painted faces of the figures in the windows. It was as though the saints and angels themselves were mourning the demise of what had gone before, or weeping for the fate that lay in store for the city.

Was it up to her to avert disaster and ensure that no more tears needed to be shed? Or was her role just to help everyone through the trying times ahead, as best she could, and wait for matters to resolve themselves?

_I don't know,_ _but I have to do something. I can't just stand here and wait for Umbrella to roll over and die. Everybody in this church could be dead by this time next month if I do nothing._

Tim was still trying hard to hold back tears as the congregation sat down again. Impulsively, Amber reached out and took his hand. She felt his fingers close around hers, gripping them tightly for support, and it was then that she made her decision.

_Today is where it's all going to change. I'm going to help the people that need me and make sure they survive whatever's coming. And if that means shouting the truth from the rooftops and constantly struggling to get people on my side… then so be it. If they want a war, then I'll put up a fight they'll never forget._

xxxxxxxxxx

The church doors opened out onto a world of chaos. Flashbulbs lit up the scene like lightning and the waiting reporters, huddling beneath a sea of umbrellas, pressed excitedly forward, notebooks at the ready.

One or two people pushed them impatiently aside, as though swatting away flies, but others got cornered and ended up stammering incoherent platitudes about the sadness of Jeff Lonsdale's passing and how the city just wouldn't be the same without him.

Just ahead of her, Martin Lonsdale gave an audible groan.

"They haven't gone yet? Denny, this is ridiculous. We have to get these people out of here! Gloria and the boys are upset enough as it is without having to deal with this - this _circus_! For crying out loud, you'd think Mike Warren had just bought the farm! Can't we call the police?"

"I don't think so. They're in a public place," said his brother.

"I don't care where they are, it's harassment," said Martin shortly. "They shouldn't be allowed to do this to people. It's our dad's funeral, for God's sake…"

"I know, but you know what they're like, Marty," said Dennis, with weariness hanging on every word. "They always cite public interest."

"Yeah, well, you know what? The public interest can kiss my ass!" Martin snapped. "I don't give a crap about the public interest! Or the public! They can all go to hell!"

There was a shrill of excitement from the reporters and they immediately began clustering around him, like a swarm of wasps descending upon an unexpected jar of honey.

"Mr Lonsdale, what's your position on charitable donations?" asked one, pen poised just above his notebook. "Are you planning to carry on your father's work?"

"Mr Lonsdale, did you just tell the people of Raccoon City to go to hell?"

"Rumour has it that you're considering giving up your stake in the Lonsdale Corporation. Do you have anything to comment?"

"Mr Lonsdale, is it true you were disinherited by your father before he died?"

"Are you really planning to buy the Henriksson plant and redevelop the site?"

"Is it true you owe the Glenville Heights Casino thirty million dollars?"

"What about Lola Las Vegas? Is it true you're planning to marry in the fall?"

Martin Lonsdale suddenly looked like a drowning man. He turned round and stared pleadingly at his younger brother.

"Help," was all he said.

Dennis Lonsdale strode forward immediately and said, to the waiting masses:

"You'll have to excuse my brother's outburst, ladies and gentlemen. As I'm sure you can appreciate, he's still very upset following our father's death. This has been a very difficult time for all of us and I would be greatly obliged if you could afford our family some privacy."

"Mr Lonsdale, just answer the questions, please!" insisted a reporter near the front of the group.

"Our position on charitable donations should be very clear," said Dennis, more coldly. "The Lonsdale family tradition of helping those in need is something my brother and I both aim to continue. Furthermore, I'd like to clarify that my brother is _not_ marrying Lola Las Vegas, he has no intention whatsoever of giving up his stake in the family firm, and given that our father was very close to both of us, I highly doubt he's been disinherited. As for the Henriksson SG plant in Haines, I'm pleased to announce that the Lonsdale Corporation has indeed bought the plant and intends to reopen it next spring."

"Yeah, I bought it for my nephews as an investment property. And I've never even _met_ Lola Las Vegas," said Martin feebly.

"What about the thirty million dollars he owes the casino?" piped up a reporter.

"My brother does not owe thirty million dollars to a casino," said Dennis firmly.

Martin gave an embarrassed cough.

"Uh… actually… I kind of - "

"My brother does not owe thirty million dollars to a casino," Dennis repeated, with a sharp look at his brother. "A personal cheque has been written out to that particular establishment and the funds are being cleared as we speak. Furthermore, I have no doubt that his brief foray into high-stakes poker as a possible investment opportunity will be his last."

"You've got that right," said Martin under his breath. "I'm sure the guy across the table was cheating."

"Mr Lonsdale, would it be fair to say that you've just confirmed by omission that your brother told the people of Raccoon City to go to hell?" said another reporter, smirking.

"That statement would be neither fair nor accurate," said Dennis matter-of-factly. "At no point did my brother instruct or advise anyone to go to hell."

The reporter frowned.

"But didn't he - ?"

"No. By the way, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Miss Beverley Warren is standing behind you. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to answer any further questions and quite possibly have her picture taken."

As one, the reporters and photographers all turned round and hurried towards Beverley Warren, who gave them a beaming smile and a little wave. In seconds their lenses and flashbulbs were focused on the young woman and her dainty black umbrella, which she was twirling coquettishly for the cameras.

"Thanks, Denny," said Martin, breathing out again. "That was a close one."

"I'll say. Incidentally, you owe me thirty million dollars."

"Pocket change, little brother. Pocket change."

"You'd better hope Dad didn't actually disinherit you. If he did, then you'd better start cutting back on your vacation spending, pronto."

"He didn't disinherit me, I was his favourite," said Martin breezily. "You were Mom's, remember? That's why she left you her art collection and I just got some golf course she owned in Europe. I don't even like golf."

"No more gambling, Martin," Dennis warned. "That's the last time I bail you out because you've blown your steel shares on poker. And this time I mean it."

"Oh, lighten up, bro," said Martin, dismissing this. "If it happens again I'll just sell another yacht."

"What do you mean, _another _yacht?" said his brother, frowning. "How many of those things do you have?"

Martin shrugged.

"Seven. Maybe eight. I forget. That was a nice trick you pulled, by the way."

"Beverley Warren? Well, it works better than "Look, something shiny", and more often than not, it's true," said Dennis. "Come on, they're taking Dad to the cemetery. If we leave quickly, we might be able to shake the newshounds and end up with something resembling a dignified funeral."

"Right behind you, little brother."

They departed, leaving Amber and Tim to stare in disbelief at the space they'd recently occupied.

"You people live in a completely different world, don't you?" Amber remarked.

"Hey, don't look at me," said Tim defensively. "I don't live like that. I've got a real job."

"Yeah, I always wondered about that," said Amber.

"What do you mean?" said Tim, narrowing his eyes a little.

"Well, your dad's a billionaire," said Amber. "Why do you work for the police force when you can afford to sit on your ass and do nothing in the Bahamas for the rest of your life?"

"Because I don't want to be a billionaire," said Tim straight away. "All billionaires think about is money and whether their wives really married them for their personality. And I don't want to be famous either. I want to be Tim Lonsdale, not Tim Lonsdale the billion-dollar businessman with no life."

"I get you," said Amber. "You want to be a regular-joe with friends and a real job, who worries about money just like everybody else."

"Hey, I worry about money."

Amber stared at him.

"_You _worry about money?"

"Yeah. I keep thinking that one day everyone at work will find out how much money I really have and they'll stop treating me like a normal guy."

"They know you've got money, Tim. Fulham spends every day of the week wishing he was you."

"Yeah, I know, but there's a difference between having a rich family and having your own money to burn. When I got my car I told everybody it was a present from my grandpa so they'd call me a lucky bastard, admire it for a while, and then forget about it. Can you imagine what they would have called me if I'd told them _I'd _bought it?"

"Well, I don't think they would have used the word "lucky"…"

"Exactly. I don't want people to hate my guts."

Amber smiled.

"I wouldn't mind having your problems, Tim. I'd be quite happy to be a billionaire cop pretending not to be a billionaire. Especially if I got to drive your car."

This got a small grin out of Tim.

"I guess it's not all bad, living in the goldfish bowl. Come on, we'd better get going before those reporters start asking me if you're my secret girlfriend."

"In your dreams."

"Funny you should say that. The last time I woke up that scared, I was five and thought there really were monsters in my closet."

"Tim!"

Tim smiled.

"Just kidding. You're the best secret non-girlfriend I've never had."

"And don't you forget it!"

xxxxxxxxxx

It was sad to think that Jeffrey Lonsdale's face would never see the light of day again, Amber thought, as she stood by Tim's side and watched the sealed casket being lowered into the ground.

Most of the mourners had already left the church in Newbury and started heading towards Lonsdale Yard for the dedication service, so only a few of the attendees had made it to the graveside. In fact, aside from her and the Lonsdales, only three people had turned up at the cemetery to see the family patriarch being laid to rest.

The first two were Hitoki Ohnishi, owner and founder of the eponymous home electronics firm, and Tex Redson, who owned the Big West hotel chain. It seemed that the men had been close friends of Mr Lonsdale's; Mr Redson looked especially glum in the rain, and Mr Ohnishi's small, sad face was completely buried in an oversized handkerchief.

The third person - a youngish, dark-haired man holding a bundle of documents - was unknown to her. She hadn't noticed him at the church service, and Tim didn't recognise him either. Even Tim's parents and uncle were giving him an occasional sideways glance, as though they weren't entirely sure who he was, but didn't want to send him away in case he was supposed to be there.

"I can't believe Grandpa's really gone," said Tim sadly, looking down at the open grave. "I know I shouldn't be surprised, but… well, I was hoping he'd be around for a few more years. I really miss him."

"Me too," said Jimmy. "Kind of hard to say goodbye when you've known somebody your whole life. It's too weird, knowing you won't see them again. Well, not in this lifetime, anyway."

Amber stared down at the casket, lying forlornly in its trench.

_A long life, a family, a firm and a fortune… and how does it all end? Nine people standing around a grave in the rain. Sad to think what little remains of our lives once we're dead and gone. All Jeff Lonsdale left behind was a few good deeds and a bunch of assets for his kids to inherit. And he was was one of the lucky ones. I wonder what I'd leave behind if I died tomorrow?_

As the undertakers stepped forward and started filling in the grave, piling spade after spade of damp earth onto the casket, the newcomer remarked:

"You know, I've never been to a funeral before. I always thought they had the headstone in place beforehand."

"They only do that on television," said Dennis. "You have to wait and let the earth settle for a few days before you put up a headstone. I understand it's something to do with subsidence. Who are you, by the way? I don't think we've had the pleasure."

"Oh," said the man, suddenly looking flustered. "My apologies. Jeremy Katz of Katz Riederland & Co, Mr Lonsdale's legal representatives. I'm afraid I haven't been acting for Mr Lonsdale for very long. His previous attorney, Mr Riederland, retired in April and Mr Lonsdale was kind enough to instruct me in his place. You must be his son…?"

"Dennis Lonsdale," said Tim's father, inclining his head slightly. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Katz."

Jeremy Katz returned the nod politely.

"Likewise. My colleagues and I were sorry to hear about your father's death, Mr Lonsdale. He was a good man and we all thought very highly of him. Please accept my sincere condolences on behalf of everyone at the firm."

"Thank you."

The lawyer gave a cough.

"I realise that this may not be the best time to discuss legal matters, but Mr Lonsdale requested that I attend upon you after the service in my capacity as his attorney. More specifically, he asked me to give you this."

He handed over a small white envelope to Dennis, who looked down at it in confusion.

"Isn't the will meant to be read out tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'm due to see you at ten-thirty, but my client left very specific instructions for this to be given to you at his interment," Mr Katz explained. "He said he preferred the personal touch when it came to family business, although I'm not sure exactly what he was alluding to. He never instructed me as to the envelope's specific contents."

"Thank you," said Dennis. "Was there anything else?"

"No, that's it," said Mr Katz. "Unless I can be of further assistance?"

Dennis shook his head.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr Lonsdale," said Mr Katz, and he extended a hand. "I'll see you and your family at our offices tomorrow. If there's anything we can do for you in the meantime, just give us a call."

"Thank you for coming, Mr Katz," said Dennis, shaking the other man's hand firmly. "We'll see you tomorrow."

The lawyer nodded, and took his leave. When the man was out of sight, Dennis looked around at the other people present and said:

"We'd better get going, or we'll be late for the dedication. We'll take a look at Dad's letter afterwards and see what he has to say…"

Tim was the last person to leave the graveside. He turned his head back to look at the grave once more and Amber saw his eyes filling up.

"Bye, Grandpa," she heard him say quietly. "We'll miss you."

She waited until he was ready, then she took him by the hand and gently led him away.

xxxxxxxxxx

The rain was getting worse now. It had been bad enough in Newbury, where the neatly-tended grass of Raccoon Cemetery had bristled with damp and left Amber with wet feet, but it seemed as though the clouds were emptying themselves completely over Coburg.

Lonsdale Yard had started its life as part of the old City Hall complex. Demolished six years ago for multiple fire code violations, the crumbling municipal buildings had been replaced by a larger, more robust edifice in a similar style. Donations from Umbrella had funded most, if not all, of the project, and the remaining plot of land had been earmarked for redevelopment as a parking lot. Fortunately for the city, the plot had been purchased at the last moment by Jeffrey Lonsdale and his associates, who had turned it into a park. Now one of the few green spaces left in downtown Coburg - the most built-up area of Raccoon City - Lonsdale Yard provided welcome relief for those seeking refuge from the hustle and bustle of City Hall and the nearby shopping district.

It seemed to be popular with the dead, too. There were several plaques on the wall nearby, commemorating various citizens with a particular attachment to the park. The newest addition to these read:

_Dedicated to the memory of_

_JEFFREY Q. LONSDALE_

_Devoted husband, father and grandfather_

_(1922-1998)_

Lonsdale Yard was a surprisingly narrow plot of land, and the path through the park was crowded from edge to edge. Even though she was near the front of the crowd, Amber was struggling to see what was going on, let alone hear what was being said through the roar of raindrops on her umbrella.

"You're not missing much," said Tim, who must have seen the look on her face. "Someone from the company's giving a speech about what a great guy Grandpa was."

"He was a great guy," said Amber. "He did a lot for this city. Look at all the free clinics and homeless shelters he set up in downtown, and all that fundraising stuff he did for charity. He must have given away millions of dollars."

"Yeah, I know, but the guy'staking half an hour to say what you just said in ten seconds. I wish he'd just get to the point so we can go back inside. We're getting drenched out here."

Amber hadn't wanted to say it, but she'd been thinking exactly the same thing. The rambling speeches had long since killed her concentration, and her damp feet were starting to go numb from standing in the same spot for too long.

"Hey, Dad," Jimmy said, tugging on his father's sleeve. "How about opening the envelope Mr Katz gave you? I want to see what Grandpa wanted to tell us."

Tim's father wavered momentarily, then he gave in.

"All right. It looks like the ceremony's pretty much over anyway. Let's take a look."

He took out the envelope from the pocket of his overcoat and opened it discreetly, taking care to make as little noise as possible. He unfolded the single sheet of paper inside and started to read silently.

"What did he say, Denny?" said Tim's uncle.

Dennis Lonsdale handed the piece of paper over to his brother without a word. The contents had apparently left him unmoved; whatever had been written clearly came as a surprise to Martin Lonsdale, though, because his eyebrows shot up.

"Oh," was all he said. "I wasn't expecting him to do that. I hope they can handle it on their own."

"What is it?" said Tim's mother quietly. "Did Pop leave something to the boys?"

Martin gave a soft chuckle.

"Boy, did he. Take a look, Gloria."

Gloria Lonsdale took the paper and read it through solemnly. When she got to the end, her eyes widened in surprise and alarm.

"Oh, my…"

Jimmy grabbed the paper before it could flutter to the ground. His eyes darted back and forth across the page, then he grinned, from ear to ear.

"All _right_! I knew Grandpa would leave us something cool. Check it out, Tim!"

Amber was starting to get dizzy, watching the letter being passed back and forth between the Lonsdales, but it eventually ended up in Tim's hands. Despite her better judgment urging her not to read over Tim's shoulder, because the Lonsdale family affairs were none of her business, she couldn't help sneaking a look. She and Tim both followed the smooth progress of his grandfather's handwriting across the page:

"_Further to the various bequests made to the named beneficiaries of my will, I write this letter in order to communicate to my family my last wishes with regard to the future management of the family business:-_

_Dennis - I have placed you and Gloria in charge of the Lonsdale Corporation as joint CEOs. You've both proven yourself over the years to be very capable when it comes to money and I know the business and its assets will be safe in your hands._

_Martin - I'm aware that you prefer enjoying your money to investing it, so I hope you aren't insulted by the above gesture. I have, however, left you a seat on the board of executive directors and a sufficient number of shares to allow you to retain a controlling interest in the firm. This should provide you with sufficient income to ensure many years of future enjoyment, but I'd be grateful if you could start spreading your good fortune around a little more. You'll appreciate what you've got far more once you realise how much your money can do to help others._

_James - As you've always shown a strong interest in the family firm and seem determined to prove your worth to the business, I hereby appoint you the head of the Lonsure insurance division. Should you prove yourself to be capable of running this part of the business effectively, the Loncare medical insurance scheme will also come under your control. Until this time Loncare will be presided over by your parents, who will pass on this responsibility to you as and when they see fit to do so._

_Timothy - I understand that you wish to continue your career in the police force, and I applaud you for your strong sense of responsibility to the people of Raccoon City. This should serve you in good stead when the time comes for you and your brother to run the company by yourselves. Until this time, I want you to take charge of Lontech, the company's new technological division. This should serve as a suitable introduction to the family business, and with the guidance of your parents and uncle, I have no doubt that you will help the Lonsdale Corporation to grow and prosper."_

She looked up, and saw that Tim's face had gone white with shock.

"Oh God," he said numbly. "I'm a billionaire."

"You're already a billionaire," said Amber. "What's the difference?"

"I mean I'm an actual billionaire," said Tim. He looked and sounded devastated. "It's not just in a trust fund somewhere any more. Grandpa's given me a business to run…"

"You're very fortunate, Timothy," his father told him, taking the paper from his hands. "Lontech's only been up and running for six months and it's already promising to be a very lucrative part of the firm. Technology is proving to be the way forward for businesses like ours, and by making our own products we can attract sources of outside investment like - "

"Dad, I don't think you understand," Tim interrupted. "I'm not interested in joining the family business. I've never been interested in finance, or investments, or anything like that. That's not what I want to do with my life."

Dennis Lonsdale looked almost speechless.

"You mean you're turning down a multi-million dollar business concern because you want to play at being a police officer?"

"I _am_ a police officer, Dad," Tim corrected him. "That's what I do. I don't want to join the business, and that's that. If you or Jimmy or Uncle Martin want to run Lontech instead of me, then you're more than welcome to have it, but it's not for me."

Amber thought Tim's father was going to lose his temper, but instead his features settled back into a slightly pained expression. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Very well. If you really have your heart set on the police force, I'll make arrangements to put the Lontech division in trust for you. In the meantime your mother and I will make sure it - "

"Excuse me," said a silken voice from somewhere in the crowd. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, Mr Lonsdale. Did your son just say he wasn't interested in taking on the Lontech division?"

Amber and the Lonsdales turned round at once to see who'd spoken. As she took in the details of the figure now standing before them, Amber's response rose at once from the back of her throat and came out as an angry hiss:

"_You son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here?"_

It was Lyle Linton. He was wearing a darker suit than the grey one she'd seen him in before, and his white-blond hair was damp with rainwater, but it was definitely the same man who'd stood in the street and lied through his teeth about an informant's agonising death beneath trolley wheels.

"I thought I recognised you from somewhere," said Linton, who didn't look at all taken aback by this unmannerly greeting. "Officer… Bernstein, wasn't it?"

"Very clever, but you're not the only one who does their homework," Amber responded. "I know all about you too, Lyle Linton."

"I'm sure you do," said Linton, his tone of voice still infuriatingly polite. He turned to the Lonsdales. "I realise that this may be a difficult time, gentlemen, but as the chief executive of Linton Financial Holdings, I'm always on the lookout for possible business opportunities, both for myself and on behalf of my clients. You might be interested to know that I have a number of very wealthy associates currently looking to invest in the area of technology. Chief among these, of course, is the Umbrella Corporation."

"And why would we be prepared to do business with you, Mr Linton?" said Dennis Lonsdale suspiciously. "You know perfectly well that the Lonsdale Corporation has no business dealings with Umbrella. Our father hated that company and everything it stood for."

"Yes, I was given to understand that the relationship between Mr Lonsdale and Mr Spencer was somewhat - fraught."

"Fraught?" interrupted Martin. "Dad couldn't stand the guy! He called him a monstrous, decrepit old badger who thrived on human misery!"

"Quite," said Linton smoothly. "However, I note that Mr Lonsdale is sadly no longer with us, and I think this could prove to be an ideal opportunity for a fresh start. In this day and age, it doesn't pay to become too set in your ways. Least of all in business, when there are so many new avenues to be explored. That's why I'd like to put forward a proposal."

"Forget it," said Dennis, frowning. "I already told you, we don't do business with Umbrella, and that's final."

"Final enough to turn down five billion dollars, Mr Lonsdale?"

"Yes, that's - _what?_"

"That's right. On behalf of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals Incorporated, I'd like to offer you five billion dollars for the Lontech division. They would normally have offered three, but I understand that they're _very _eager to purchase it."

"Five billion dollars?" repeated Dennis weakly.

"Is this some kind of joke?" said Gloria suspiciously, in the background. "If it is, Mr Linton, it's in very bad taste, and I should add that your timing could hardly be more unfortunate."

"I assure you, Mrs Lonsdale," said Linton, with a beatific smile, "this offer is being made in earnest. Umbella is offering five billion dollars. Cash."

Dennis looked as though he was about to faint.

"E-excuse me for a moment, Mr Linton," he said, "I need to discuss this with my family."

Tim's parents and uncle went into a small huddle and started murmuring. Amber heard snatches of conversation issuing from the trio:

"They valued it recently, it's worth six hundred million already and that's projected to…"

"Dennis, are you crazy? Dad hated Umbrella!"

"Yes, but even with the long-term strategy in place, it'll only be worth about two billion, tops. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, it'll give us chance to diversify into - "

"Darling, I'm not sure about this…"

"Gloria's right, Dennis, we can't just…"

"But what if we…"

"Oh."

"In that case, I think…"

The huddle broke up and they turned around to face Lyle Linton.

"Mr Linton," said Dennis gravely, "if my son is not interested in taking over Lontech, then, pending unanimous agreement from the board of directors, we're prepared to accept your offer. Provisionally for now, of course, but we'll certainly be giving it the consideration it deserves. Five billion dollars is a very generous sum."

Amber gasped.

"Mr Lonsdale?" she said, trembling with nerves, "I, uh, I don't think that's such a good - "

But his sons had already beaten her to it.

"_What?_" Jimmy burst out. "Dad, are you serious? You're going to sell off Tim's share of the company to them? What if Tim changes his mind? And how come I can't have it if he doesn't want it?"

"Jimmy's right, Dad, this is a _really _bad idea," said Tim shakily. "I know I'm not interested in business, but I don't see why Jimmy can't have my share instead."

"Your father probably thinks that your brother's too young to handle three separate divisions of a company by himself, Mr Lonsdale," said Linton, with a condescending little smile. "After all, most boys his age are enjoying their college years - not heading three divisions of a nationally-known business enterprise."

"Who the hell are you to say I'm too young to handle it, jerk-hole?" said Jimmy belligerently, stepping up closer to the man and staring him straight in the eyes. "This is _our _family business, not yours, so butt out!"

"Dad, you can't sell Lontech to them!" Tim protested, grabbing his father by the arm. "You know Grandpa hated Umbrella, so why are you doing this? Lonsdale Corp was his company! Don't you care about what he would have wanted to happen to it?"

"Considering what scant regard _you're _paying his wishes, Timothy, you're hardly in a position to tell me what to do," said his father, with some disdain, and shook him off. "I think this is an excellent offer which could do a great deal for our company."

"Yeah?" said Tim. "A great deal of what? Harm or good? Dad, the Lonsdale Corporation belongs to our family - you can't just start giving it away! Why don't you let Jimmy have Lontech instead? He'll take better care of it than I will!"

"Mr Linton has a point when he says that it may not be wise to overload your brother," said Dennis sternly. "It's a lot of responsibility for a young man of twenty-one. He might not be able to deal with that kind of pressure at his age."

"Dad! What the hell?" complained Jimmy. "Seriously, I can do this! Tim's right, don't listen to this guy! I bet it's some kind of trick to cheat us out of the company!"

"Dad, if you don't think Jimmy can do it, then give it to Mom, or Uncle Martin," Tim pleaded with his father. "Please - this isn't right! Grandpa would have gone _nuts _if he'd thought Umbrella would get a piece of his legacy before he even started getting comfortable underground!"

"That's your problem, Timothy, not mine," his father replied icily. "If you're not prepared to shoulder your responsibilities to the family, then you have no right to complain about how they're distributed. If you don't want Lontech, I'm selling it and the proceeds will be invested elsewhere in the company."

Tim hesitated.

"Dad, I - "

His father turned to him.

"What?"

"Look, I… I'm sorry, Dad," said Tim, hanging his head in defeat. "It's okay. I'll take over Lontech. Not right away, but if you look after it for me, that'll give me time to think about how I can manage it later. Just don't sell it, okay? If technology's the good investment you say it is, then we should be the ones investing in it, not Umbrella. It could be worth a lot more than five billion dollars one day, and I don't want Grandpa turning in his grave because we squandered all that money for nothing. He would have hated that. Really hated it."

His father stared down at him for a while, then he beamed, and patted him on the back.

"That's my boy. I think you'll make the best businessman out of all of us, Tim. You know the true worth of our company better than anyone."

Dennis Lonsdale looked Lyle Linton straight in the eye.

"What my son understands instinctively and _your _client fails to appreciate, Mr Linton, is that the Lonsdale Corporation is about much more than money. It's about trust, and the future, and our responsibility to other people. Most of all, it's about looking after the things that really matter - and nothing matters more to me than my family. If my boy isn't prepared to sell Lontech, neither am I. Take your offer back to Umbrella and tell them where to shove it."

A thunderous look passed briefly across Linton's face, but it was a flicker, nothing more. He nodded, very coolly, and said:

"Well, thank you for your time, gentlemen. It was nice meeting you. And if you ever wish to reconsider my client's offer, then you know where to find them."

"Yeah, we'll see them in Hell," said Martin, with a snort. "Now get lost."

Lyle Linton said nothing more. Without a sound, he moved through the crowd and slipped away from view. The Lonsdales' stares were more hostile than wary now, as though they were almost daring him to come back and challenge their decision.

Amber looked around and saw that a few onlookers, mostly senior Lonsdale Corporation staff, had been left open-mouthed by the exchange. Making their way past them was a steady flow of black-clad mourners, returning to their everyday lives and the city beyond Lonsdale Yard's walls. While the Lonsdales had been wrestling with their principles in the face of Linton's questionable proposal, the service had ended, and she'd become so caught up in the drama that she'd completely failed to notice.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," said Gloria, with a sigh that broke the tension neatly. "That was too close. That _odious _little man. How he had the nerve to suggest such a thing, at a time like this…!"

"Don't worry," her husband told her, kissing her on the cheek. "I've dealt with people like him before. He won't be back."

Gloria looked uncertain.

"I hope you're right, dear. Are you sure?"

"He won't," said Dennis, taking his wife's arm and leading her away. "He already knows he can't change our minds, and Umbrella won't be prepared to hike up their offer any further. Five billion is far more than Lontech's worth right now, and they know it. That was the only reason they made the offer. It was meant to be too good to refuse…"

Martin and Jimmy exchanged looks.

"Well, I don't know about you, Jim, but I think it's about time you and I went somewhere and toasted your Grandpa's memory," said Martin, with a nod. "What do you say we treat the girls at the Purple Puma Club to some champagne, hmm?"

Jimmy gave his watch a casual glance. It was one of the impressively oversized ones that Amber had only ever seen in glossy fashion magazines - the kind that came with an altimeter, the time in twenty world capitals, and its own security guard. If the number of dials and diamonds were anything to go by, it had cost him more than she earned in a year.

"Not open yet," he reported.

"All right then, we'll grab some lunch, buy a couple of cocktails for those hardworking girls at the Pussycat Lounge, and then we can swing by the Corinthian for some shots and a few hands of blackjack," his uncle said cheerfully. "What do you say?"

Jimmy perked up.

"Sounds like fun. Hey, Tony!"

"Yeah?" said Tony Warren, from somewhere inside the little group of security guards that surrounded his family.

"We're going out," Jimmy called. "You coming with?"

"You bet!"

Before either of his parents could object, Tony was gone, pushing past his minders and disappearing with Jimmy and Martin through the open gate, the three exchanging conspiratorial grins as they left.

More people streamed past, trying not to let their umbrellas clash with those of other guests, and then the tide of pushing, jostling, gossiping humanity abruptly stopped, leaving Tim and Amber standing alone in the middle of Lonsdale Yard.

"So that's it," said Tim, with a bleakness that she'd never seen in him before. "Grandpa's gone and I'm a billionaire. I promised myself I'd stay out of the business and be normal, and now I've gone and sold my soul for something I never wanted in the first place. So much for not putting a price on my principles."

"It wasn't your fault, Tim," said Amber. "It was either that or stand back and let Umbrella try to cheat your family out of their legacy. Big businesses have big appetites, especially when they can smell money. They would have started with Lontech and it wouldn't have ended there. You did the right thing by intervening."

"Did I?" said Tim bitterly. "Feels to me like I walked straight into a trap. Damn it, Grandpa knew I didn't want to get involved with that stuff. Why did he leave me Lontech?"

"He was only trying to take care of you," said Amber. "Everybody knows that jobs don't last like they used to. I think it was his way of making sure you always had something to come back to if things went wrong."

"Maybe he _was _only trying to help, but I wish he hadn't," said Tim, glaring down at his shoes. "Now Dad's tricked me into joining Lonsdale Corp."

"He didn't trick you," said Amber, trying not to squirm at the lie.

"Of course he did," said Tim. "He could tell Umbrella were trying to get back at Grandpa by taking a piece of his company, and he used it to talk me into taking up my share. Pretty soon he's going to ask when I want to start work, then he'll get me into a suit and tie and my life will be over. All I ever wanted to be was a police officer. An ordinary guy. Now I'm just some trust-fund brat who got a whole company division handed to him on a plate."

He looked up angrily.

"He did this on purpose, Amber! All he had to do was take care of my share of the company, not guilt-trip me into a new job! The worst thing is, he only got the chance to do that because of that Umbrella lapdog Linton and his _stupid _offer! If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't even be in this mess right now! Now I've been pushed into this, and I can't back out…"

He looked around at the walls that enclosed Lonsdale Yard, and sighed heavily.

"I know it shouldn't feel like a death sentence. Everyone else in the world wants to get rich. It's supposed to be great, in fact, maybe it _is _great and I just don't get it, but I already had everything I wanted, and now I've been duped into giving it up! All because some interfering Umbrella _asshole _had to show up here and ruin everything!"

"They do that," said Amber, more sympathetically. Tim's rant might have annoyed her once, because she'd always felt that people with money had no right to complain about how difficult life was. Now, having witnessed first-hand the disadvantages of wealth, she was starting to understand why Tim looked so unhappy. How could anyone stand all the photographers, the myriad of social obligations, the intense pressure to conform, the forced smiles and the keeping up of appearances, the forsaken freedoms of privacy and anonymity, and the realisation that no amount of money can buy real happiness, and not go crazy? It was no wonder Tim's uncle squandered as much of his cash as possible. The gambling and yachts and girls had to be some kind of outlet for it all - a means of temporary escape from the more tiresome aspects of wealth, or a way to buy back his sanity by gradually running out of the money that made him famous, so he could sink comfortably back into the society of the merely well-off and attract no attention whatsoever.

In the midst of this musing, a thought seemed to have occurred to Tim. He looked up once again, and now there was a determined look in his eyes. No longer hollow-eyed and miserable, his face seemed alive with a kind of burning, vengeful purpose.

"You hate Umbrella, don't you?" he said out loud.

Amber nodded.

"Now I know why," said Tim. "This is what they do, isn't it? They try to buy their way into everything, so they can control people. They don't care whose lives they wreck along the way. They just do whatever the hell they want and damn the consequences, and everybody lets them get away with it, like it's okay for them to screw with people's lives! Well, it's not okay! And you were right about that guy, Amber, he's up to something all right. I don't know what it is he's trying to help Umbrella accomplish, but I can tell it's nothing good."

"It's not," said Amber sincerely. "Trust me on this."

"I know you know there's something strange going on around here," said Tim, more slowly now, as though he was chewing the thought over. "That's why the Chief's been telling you to stay out of Bethany Rove's death, isn't it? That Linton guy was there when she got killed, and someone said you thought all that stuff was tied up somehow with the attacks, and Umbrella, and the rumours about what happened up in the mountains. I'm still not sure what to believe about the zombie rumours, but I know you, and I know you don't lie, so I know you'll tell me what's really going down."

"Of course."

"Is it - true? What happened to the STARS out there in the forest? Did Umbrella really kill Joseph and the others? Is that why you hate them so much?"

"Yes," said Amber. Her heart was starting to quicken. "They killed Joseph and Bravo Team. And I know they killed Bethany too. She found out something they didn't want anybody to know and she was about to make it public, so they took her out. They planted Linton on the scene so he could make a false statement afterwards and convince everybody it was an accident, but I saw what happened. I know what they did, and I'm not going to let them get away with it."

"I want to help you," Tim said suddenly. "Whatever they're doing, it's not right. Not if they're prepared to lie, and cheat, and kill people to get whatever it is they're after. If you're right about Umbrella and what they've been up to, then they have to be stopped."

Amber wanted to scream with joy and throw her arms around him. Tim might have been distraught at being forced back into the gilded cage he'd been trying so hard to escape from, but in a perverse way, she was glad it had happened, if only because losing control of his life had made him understand the danger. Liberty and the pursuit of happiness weren't the only things Umbrella's touch could turn to ashes - now they were taking lives as well.

"I know I'm not good enough to join the STARS," said Tim, a little regretfully. "I'm not like Chris or Jill. But if there's any way I can help them, and you, then I will. I mean that. Whatever you need, just ask."

"Well, if you have any spare cash, that might come in handy," said Amber, half-jokingly. "I was hoping to ask your grandfather if he was willing to help us investigate Umbrella's involvement in the mansion incident, but I never got the chance."

Unexpectedly, Tim nodded and took out a cheque book from his jacket.

"All right. How much do you need? Five hundred thou? A million? Two? Two and a half?"

Amber's mouth dropped open.

"I - _what_?"

"Call it two and a half," said Tim, who was now busily writing out a cheque. "That should get you guys some damn good lawyers and all the resources you need. If that doesn't buy a lot of private investigation, give me a call and I'll see what else I can hook you up with."

He tore off the cheque and held it out for her to take.

Amber looked down at the piece of paper, just inches from her fingertips. The chance of getting everything she needed to help the STARS carry on their fight was a tantalising one, and it was right there for the taking, but her generous donor was also an angry, vulnerable friend who'd just come from a family funeral. There was a good chance he wasn't thinking straight. Was this offer one she could take up in good conscience?

"Tim, I - " she began.

"Please, take it," he said gently, proferring it again. "If Grandpa would have wanted anything, it would be for me to do some good with my money."

"Tim…"

"Please."

Amber looked into her friend's eyes, saw something earnest and imploring, and knew that this really was an offer she couldn't refuse. Because of Umbrella she and Tim had both lost the futures they'd wanted, and the things they'd cherished most. For her, it had been Joseph and the life they would have shared together; for Tim, it had been his job and the hope of independence that came with it. It was a profound hurt they shared in common, and she understood that this was his way of salvaging something from the wreckage of his hopes and dreams. How could she say no to that?

"Thank you, Tim," she said, and took the piece of paper. "For what it's worth, your grandfather would have been proud of you. You saved your family's company from Umbrella, and your money's about to help everybody in this city more than you can even imagine."

"You know what, I'm glad we didn't sell them Lontech," said Tim, shivering. "If you're right about them, then I hate to think what they might have used it for."

"Me too."

Tim pulled his coat around him.

"Weather's not getting much better out here," he said. "Come on, let's go get something to eat. We can work out what we're going to do with the money later."

"Good idea."

They shut the gate behind them, and left the rain to fall alone on Lonsdale Yard.


	18. After The Funeral

**18: After The Funeral**

"Two million dollars," said Jason in wonderment. He was sitting on the couch, turning the cheque over in his hands. "Two million dollars. Two _million_ dollars."

"Two and a half," corrected Amber, from the kitchen.

"And he just _gave _it to you? Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that."

Jason got up and went to the kitchen doorway. He looked through it at his sister, who was standing in front of the stove and stirring something in a pan.

"And you _still _won't buy me a new games console?"

"You already have a games console," Amber said matter-of-factly. "Besides, it's not my money. This is to fund an independent investigation on behalf of the people of Raccoon City. Technically it's their money."

Jason pouted.

"That's lame."

"That's life," said Amber, giving the liquid in the pan one more stir. "You'd better deal with it, little bro, because it's not going to change on account of you."

"You sound like _Mom _when you say stuff like that," grumbled Jason.

"Hey, somebody's got to say it," said Amber. "You joining me for dinner?"

Jason pocketed the cheque.

"Sure am. What is it?"

"Mom's tomato and basil soup," said Amber. "Picked up some olive bread from the deli too. You like olive bread, right?"

"Olive bread's good. That all we're having?"

"Well, that's all I'm having, but there's pizza in the fridge if you're still hungry later. Ice-cream for dessert if you want it. Help yourself."

Amber opened a cupboard and started taking out clean plates.

"Not hungry?" said Jason.

"Not really," said Amber. "Funerals don't exactly give you an appetite. Besides, I ate already. Tim took me out for lunch at _La Richesse_."

"Classy. Gotta love Italian food."

"French."

"Same thing."

"No, they're not. They're completely different. Comparing French food to Italian food is like comparing sushi to a double cheeseburger. They both taste pretty good, but they don't have a whole lot in common."

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. They're both from Europe, aren't they?"

Amber tried not to sigh.

"I don't know what they teach you kids in school."

"It's public school, Amb," said Jason, leaning back against the fridge and watching his sister as she laid out the dishes. "They don't teach you anything. It's like this girl in my class. You know the Nazis?"

"Not personally," said Amber, now setting out the cutlery. "You mean I know _about _the Nazis?"

"Yeah, that."

"What about them?"

"Kelly thought they were made-up."

Amber turned to gawp at him.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No, for real. She thought they were just in the movies. Like aliens and robots. She thought dinosaurs weren't real either."

"And I bet you're going to tell me she majors in history," said Amber, turning back towards the stove.

"Yep. It's okay though, she doesn't show up for class much. I think they're going to kick her out next semester."

Nodding in agreement, Amber took the pan off the stove. A thought suddenly occurred to her. She paused, then put the pan down again and turned around to look at her brother.

"Did you just steal my cheque?" she said.

Jason considered this question, then ventured:

"Uh… no?"

Amber's hand shot out.

"Give it back."

"Give what back?" said Jason innocently.

"Jason!"

"All right, I'll give it back. Will you buy me a new games console if I do?"

"The platinum edition one you saw on TV? The one with the new improved dual-shock controllers and the free carry-case?"

"Uh-huh."

"No. Now hand over the cheque. You can't cash it anyway."

"Why not?"

"It's in my name, dumbass. Now _give!_"

Jason took the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and, very sulkily, put it back in his sister's open palm.

"Try and defraud the city out of two and a half million dollars again and I'll kick your sorry ass from here to Vegas," Amber warned him, as she put the cheque back in her wallet. "Now go make yourself useful and get that tea out of the fridge."

"Whatever you say, sis."

"Yeah, right."

Jason opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher full of iced tea. Ice cubes clinked against the side as he brought it to the table and set it down in the centre. Amber busied herself momentarily with cutting the olive bread, then stacked the slices onto a plate. She poured the soup out into two bowls, tipping slightly more into Jason's than her own, and set down. Jason followed suit and dove straight in with his spoon.

They ate in silence for several seconds. Eventually, Jason spoke.

"Mmmf-_mm_ff mmf mmfmmfff?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Jason," Amber rebuked him.

Jason swallowed.

"So how's work going?" he repeated, this time more distinctly.

"Well, I finally got rid of all the paperwork," said Amber. "And come Monday I won't be stuck on desk duty any more. I'm hoping they'll let me start working on some case files again."

"Cool."

"Yeah. How about you? Anything interesting happen at work?"

"Wouldn't know," said Jason, dragging a slice of bread around the side of the bowl. "I haven't been to work since that time you told me not to leave the house."

Amber's mouth opened guiltily, and she put down her spoon. She hadn't thought about Jason's job, or the effect of the house arrest that she'd imposed upon him. He probably hadn't shown up for work in days.

"Oh," she said, feeling her heart sink. "Did you get fired?"

"Nah," said Jason, through a mouthful of bread. "Mr Ziegler called Mom to ask where I was, but she told him there'd been a family emergency and I wouldn't be able to come to work for a while. He was cool with it. Said he understood and he'd hold the job open till I got back."

Amber smiled, unable to hide her relief.

"Whew. Close one."

"Yeah, Mom kind of saved my ass there," said Jason. He swallowed, then added, rather wistfully, "Amb, how much longer before I can go back to work?"

"I don't know," said Amber. "Hopefully not much longer. I'm sorry, Jason, I should have remembered about your job. I'll try and find some way to get you back to work soon, I promise. I'm starting to feel bad, keeping you cooped up here all day with nothing to do."

"It's not that bad," said Jason. "I could do with some fresh air though. And some more video games. I'm almost done with the ones I have."

He was looking at her as though he was hoping for an answer in the affirmative. Not wanting to make any promises she couldn't keep, Amber looked down at her soup bowl.

"I'll… see what I can do," she said.

"You know what we should do?" said Jason suddenly, as she raised her spoon to her lips again.

Amber looked up.

"What?"

"We should go see Mom and Dad sometime. It's been a while."

Amber stopped eating once more. If Jason provided her any more reasons to give pause for thought, it would be a miracle if she finished her soup at all, but this really was something to chew over.

When _had_ she last seen her mother and father?

Her forehead creased deeply in thought. She'd seen her mother a few times in the days after receiving news of Joseph's death, but not since then, and the last time she'd seen her father was when she'd raced through town in the middle of the night to pick up Jason and whisk him away from the family home.

So… about three weeks since she'd seen Dad, and about a month since she'd seen Mom. Her irregular shift patterns meant that she sometimes went a week or two without seeing her parents, but this was the first time she'd ever left it this long. She couldn't remember if she'd even spoken to them lately.

"Yeah," she said slowly. "It's been too long. I think I'll call Mom after dinner, see if we can pay them a visit."

Jason nodded.

"Good idea. They probably want to ask you what you want for your birthday. Dad always says he never knows what to get you."

"My birthday?" said Amber, taken by surprise. "But that isn't till - "

"Yeah it is," Jason interrupted. "Wednesday. You might want to let me out of here for a while, so I can get you something. Otherwise I'll have to giftwrap whatever I gave you last year and you'll have to pretend to be surprised when you open it."

"Last year you gave me a toilet seat."

"Were you surprised?"

"You could say that."

"So you didn't like it?"

"It's not that I didn't like it. It was very useful. Just… not what I was expecting. Though it was a lot better than the gift you got me the year before."

"I got you that eau de toilette, didn't I?"

"Yes, and you remember how we had that little talk afterwards about how eau de toilette and toilet water are two very different things?"

"I did kind of wonder why you wanted it. But at least I flushed first, right?"

Amber was about to reply to this, but she changed her mind, and returned to her food. Some concepts were best left well alone, especially at mealtimes.

_I can't believe it's almost my birthday. I've never forgotten about it before. I guess I've got better things to worry about right now than gifts and cake…_

"So what do you want this year?" said Jason.

"Nothing, really," said Amber, swallowing a lump of soup-soaked bread. "There's not much on my wish list this year. To stay alive till next year, maybe. That's about it."

"Does that mean I still have to get you stuff?" said Jason.

Amber shrugged.

"I'm not that bothered. You can if you want. You don't have to."

"That's cool."

That was the end of the conversation, aside from a couple of requests to pass the bread or iced tea across the table. Jason shovelled spoonfuls of soup into his mouth as though his bowl might be whisked away at any second, while Amber ate slowly and more contemplatively. She was still thinking about her parents, and how much she suddenly realised she was missing them, so much that she wanted to rush straight out of the door, right now, and head in their direction.

Ray and Sandra Bernstein lived on the other side of St James East, in a modest three-bedroom house for which they'd spent many years carefully saving and had finally purchased last year. Before that, the Bernsteins had lived halfway up a high-rise, low-rent apartment building, a few blocks away from where she lived now. Part of her still missed the apartment, with its ceiling fans and the smell of old wallpaper, and the little balcony where she used to sit and watch the afternoon traffic and the city lights at night, but seeing the happiness and pride that home ownership had brought into her parents' lives had soon trumped any childish sentiment she'd harboured about leaving the place she'd grown up in, even if it was hard to think of the new place as the family home.

However, the location was the only thing that had changed about coming home. Every time she went to visit her parents, she got the same warm welcome - her father would pick her right up off the ground and hug her, just like he used to do when she was little, and her mother would insist on feeding her until she could barely rise from the table, complaining all the while that her daughter looked thin and wasn't taking care of herself properly. Sandra Bernstein still had an embarrassing tendency to treat her daughter like a child, partly because she was an ex-kindergarten teacher and old habits died hard, but Amber was always grateful to know that her mother cared enough about her welfare to scold her for being "too skinny" and for not wrapping up warm in the winter. Being cared about was all part and parcel of being loved.

Jason wiped the bottom of his empty bowl with his last piece of bread, then devoured it promptly, washing it down with what was left of his iced tea.

"You want some ice-cream, Amb?" he said, getting up.

"Maybe later. You?"

"Nah, I'll eat mine later too. Can I finish off that pizza in the fridge?"

"Sure, I said you could."

"Sweet, thanks."

Jason returned to the table a few minutes later, ready for round two, and proceeded to finish off what remained of yesterday's pizza.

"Do me a favour and clear away the dishes when you're done," said Amber, as she got up from her seat. "I'm going to call Mom and Dad, see how they are."

Jason nodded again. Amber wasn't sure if he'd actually taken in the instruction, but she went over to the phone and dialled her parents' number anyway. Dishes could wait. She had catching-up to do…

xxxxxxxxxx

**Wednesday 2nd September, 1998 **

It had been a quiet evening so far, but the initial trickle of customers was starting to turn into a steady flow and the conversations were getting louder as the dining room filled up. And it would fill up all right - Wednesdays were popular with the Grill 13 regulars, who liked to break the mid-week tedium by going out for a steak dinner and then heading en masse to the movie theatre down the street for the "Eight Till Late" mid-week movie marathon.

The increasing level of background noise meant that most of the speakers were indistinguishable from each other, at least from a distance, but a few loud voices managed to cut through the hubbub and make themselves heard:

"Look at you! Look how thin you are! Like a rake!"

Mrs Bernstein pinched her daughter's cheek to demonstrate.

"Ow!"

"See?" Mrs Bernstein sat back in the booth, triumphant in being proved correct. "Not an ounce of flesh on her, Ray! Didn't I tell you she doesn't look after herself properly?"

"Will you stop bitching at her?" Mr Bernstein said impatiently, from across the table. "You wonder why she doesn't come to visit us like she used to? Well you got your answer, it's because you keep scaring her away all the time!"

"I scare _her_? She's the one trying to give her poor mother a heart attack by losing all that weight!" Mrs Bernstein complained. "Look at her! I bet she hasn't eaten a square meal in a month!"

Amber squirmed in her seat.

"Mom, stop it, I'm fine…"

"Yeah, you tell her, Amber," said her father, nodding. "You hear that, Sandra? She says she's fine."

"She's fine and she looks like _that?_" exclaimed Mrs Bernstein.

"I'm all _right_, Mom…"

"Will you give it a rest?" Mr Bernstein told his wife, shaking his head. "She already said she's fine! If she's smart enough to be a cop, she's smart enough to know when she needs to eat. If you're that worried, then you'll just have to feed her up a little next time she comes over."

"Can we order already?" Jason moaned. "Come on, the dude's been waiting there for like ten minutes now! I thought we were supposed to come here and _eat_! Starving to death in a restaurant is seriously uncool!"

Indeed, the waiter had been hovering near their table for some time, pen and notepad in hand, waiting patiently for the family to stop talking and decide what they wanted.

Amber sighed. Up until now, it had been a perfectly normal birthday. People at work had wished her a happy birthday when she arrived in the morning, and there had been a few cards left on her desk for her to open. Jason, who'd gone back to work on Monday, had even surprised her at breakfast with a greatest hits CD from her favourite band.

"Staff discount," he'd informed her proudly, after being told how thoughtful he was. "Got it for eight bucks instead of fifteen. And I got a free poster thrown in too. Neat, huh?"

That had been normal too, or at least normal for Jason. But the minute her parents had shown up on her doorstep and taken her and her brother out for dinner, the day had descended into the usual noisy chaos that accompanied a Bernstein family visit. Her father had greeted her with a beaming smile and open arms; her mother with shrieks of horror. Granted, Amber had shed a couple of pounds in recent weeks, but Mrs Bernstein's wails that her poor daughter looked half-dead from starvation had been slightly wide of the mark:

"My poor baby! Look at her! Like one of those starving Third World children on the news! She probably hasn't eaten in _days!_"

Thankfully, the bickering on that particular point seemed to have stopped for now. Jason's complaint that he was the starving one had reminded the rest of the family why they were here, and their heads were now buried deep in their menus. Temporarily distracted from fretting over her daughter's well-being, her mother was now deliberating whether to go for a soup or salad starter before her main course, while Jason and her father were both contemplating the happy prospect of steak and fries.

Grill 13 was about as far removed from places like _La Richesse_ as it was possible to be. It was also why Amber liked it. There were no tiny portions, no outrageous prices, no silver cutlery or imperious waiters, and not a black truffle or infusion-of-whatever in sight. Instead it was familiar and comforting; friendly service, surroundings that hadn't changed in years, and tasty, unpretentious food that completely filled both plate and stomach.

Tim had liked coming here after work, too, before he'd been unwillingly elevated to the lofty peaks of high society. She'd seen a picture of him and his brother in the newspaper just yesterday, accompanied by the caption "Tim and Jimmy Lonsdale, heirs-in-waiting to the Lonsdale stockbroking fortune, at the Mayor's annual charity fundraiser". They'd looked like celebrities in their smart new tuxedos, but while Jimmy had winked at the camera and raised a champagne glass to toast his good fortune, the glum look on Tim's face had made it plain that he didn't welcome his newfound fame.

They'd had some good times here, she and her friends at the precinct. In Tim's case, she'd been worried at first that it was too blue-collar for someone accustomed to the high life, but her worries had soon been dispelled by the sight of her friend looking relaxed and entirely at home. In spite of his silver-spoon upbringing, he was never happier than when he was allowed to blend in and be an ordinary guy.

_She _wanted to be ordinary again. To forget all the troubles she faced, all the cruel weight of responsibility, and go back to the Amber she'd been not long ago. The one without a care in the world. The Amber who didn't have to keep looking anxiously at the happiness she saw around her, wondering how much longer it would last, fearing constantly that the next moment might be the one that saw her world collapse into dust…

Amber looked up at the half-heard reminder that the waiter was still waiting, muttered the first thing that came into her head, and watched the man scurry away to pass on the orders to the kitchen. She'd already forgotten what she'd selected. Not that she cared all that much. She hadn't felt really hungry since Joseph's death. Some days, food had been little more than fuel, and she'd hardly noticed what was on her plate. Providing it kept her up and fighting for a while longer, what did it matter what she ate?

Come to think of it, she had skipped a few meals lately. Not knowingly; she'd just been busy working and forgotten to stop, but she'd let her determination to get to the bottom of all this get in the way of taking proper care of herself. Perhaps Mom was right and she really was in danger of making herself sick, like Chris, by refusing to let the need to eat and sleep slow down the struggle for justice. She'd warned him to stop doing that, and now here she was, doing exactly the same thing without even realising it…

Amber's father reached across the table, snapping her out of her trance.

"You okay, kiddo?"

She looked up at his concerned face, thought for a moment about not lying, but then nodded.

"You sure? You seem kind of distracted. Is something on your mind?"

"Well, it's kind of to do with work," she began, and before she knew it, the sorry tale of Bethany Rove's demise came tumbling out of her mouth.

It was a heavily redacted version, with the victim's identity omitted and the Umbrella connections glossed over, but it was still enough to make her mother gasp and her father turn pale.

"My poor baby!" her mother exclaimed. "What a horrible thing to have to see like that! Did they give you counselling? You ought to sue somebody!"

"Shut up, Sandra, she doesn't need to sue anybody," said her father, rolling his eyes. "How would she do that anyway? They got away, she'd have to catch them first…"

He turned back to his daughter.

"So that's what's been bothering you all evening? Seeing that poor kid get killed?"

"It's not just that," Amber admitted. "I mean, it's a lot of it - but then there's all those rumours going round the city about monsters, and those cases with people being attacked and eaten. We're trying to find out what's going on but no matter how much investigating gets done, I still feel like we're nowhere near stopping it. And then there's Joseph… oh, Dad, I miss him so much. I still can't believe he's gone."

Her father patted her hand.

"I know. You're going through a rough time right now, and it must be hard, having to deal with all this stuff. I know how easy it is to feel like you're on your own and you don't have anybody to turn to. But I want you to remember that you're not alone, okay?"

"No matter what happens," her mother pitched in suddenly, reaching across the tabletop and grabbing her other hand, "your father and I will _always _be here for you. We're your family and we love you, and we'll do whatever it takes to help you get through this. If you ever need us, we're only a phone call away, okay? Just say the word and we'll be right over."

"I will, Mom," Amber promised.

"That's our girl," said her mother fondly.

"And that's our food," said Jason, brightening at the sight of the approaching waiter. "About time, I'm starving…"

The plates barely had time to touch the table before they were seized upon by her hungry family. Jason and her dad dug into their steaks immediately, as though they were competing to see who could finish first, and after primly unfolding her napkin and adding a light dusting of salt and pepper to her food, her mother joined in with similar enthusiasm.

Amber, however, picked at her food without much enjoyment. It was good, but the flavours seemed muted somehow, as though her anxiety had taken away her ability to appreciate taste.

She looked down again at her plate, and suddenly wanted to go home. It wasn't as though she didn't appreciate her family's company - far from it - but after pouring out her concerns about work, she felt far too exposed to relax. Nobody else around seemed to be listening, but she was already replaying the conversation in her head, from the first admission of worry to her parents' offer of help if she needed it. Had she said anything that somebody might have overheard? Anything that might get back to Umbrella?

_Oh, now this is getting stupid. I know I've got good reason to be paranoid, but now I'm starting to watch every word that comes out of my mouth… this is insane, I can't go on constantly looking over my shoulder like this. I'm going to go crazy. Assuming I haven't gone crazy already. How much more of this do I have to take before it all comes to an end?_

Throughout this internal monologue, Amber carried on eating, but as she toyed half-heartedly with the meal in front of her, she realised that she was being watched.

She raised her head slightly, as though to speak to her father, and then took a glance to the side, over the top of the booth. The diners on the other side were oblivious to her, chewing away happily on the cheeseburgers they'd ordered. She snuck a few surreptitious looks in other directions, but only saw customers talking and joking amongst themselves as they ate, and waiting staff hurrying back and forth amongst the tables. Not one of them appeared even remotely interested in who she was or what she was doing.

So who was watching her?

She tried to ignore the feeling and returned to the buffalo wings she'd ordered, but the unscratchable itch of paranoia eventually became too much to bear and she looked up once more, this time towards the windows that overlooked the street.

On the other side of the glass, staring in from the street, was a young woman with brown hair. She was blandly pretty and unremarkably dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, but there was something about that plaintive gaze that chilled Amber to the core.

"Ow! Hey, watch it!" Jason protested, as his sister clambered over him and out of the booth, but his indignance turned to bewilderment as she rushed out. "What - where are you going, Amb? We haven't even ordered dessert yet!"

Amber didn't care about dessert. Slamming the restaurant doors back on their hinges, she ran out into the street and caught the young woman by the arm before she could turn and walk away.

"Bethany, wait! Please, Bethany - I don't know why you're here, I don't know _how_, but I'm doing my best, I really am," she pleaded, turning the slender figure round to face her and clutching her shoulders. "It's not my fault this is taking so long! I'm still trying to get people to help me, and the Chief won't let me investigate because he wants me fired, and a whole bunch of other people want me _worse _than fired, and my investigation's getting so complicated I don't know where to even start unravelling the whole thing…"

She ran out of breath and had to stop, but seeing the look on the girl's face, felt compelled to add:

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I understand you're upset, I really do! Hell, you've got every right to be! If I was dead, then I'd be upset too! But please just let me have my birthday to myself while I work this thing out. How are you here, anyway? And why are you following me? You're supposed to be _dead!_"

The young woman struggled free of Amber's grasp and started to back away, her initial look of polite puzzlement now turning to one of alarm.

"What? What are you, crazy? I don't know what you're talking about! Who are you? And who the hell is Bethany?"

Amber blinked, and looked again at the girl's panicked face. It was then that she saw the little differences - blue eyes, not hazel, and the shape of the nose all wrong - and felt her face flood with shame and mortification.

It wasn't Bethany. She looked like her, but it wasn't her. For a minute, she thought the impossible had happened and she'd imagined the whole thing, that Bethany Rove was still alive and ready to forgive if she could only explain herself… but it wasn't her. It was some girl who'd come here in all innocence to grab a bite to eat and maybe meet a friend or boyfriend, only to be accosted in the street by some crazy-looking woman who thought she was dead.

"I - I'm really sorry, miss," Amber faltered, as her cheeks burned and the girl's apparent fright failed to subside. "I'm sorry, I thought you were… someone else. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"Get away from me, you weirdo!"

The young woman shoved her away and fled, shrieking, before Amber could finish the sentence.

Amber stumbled against the wall, then tripped backwards and landed in the gutter. Giddy with shock and the sudden fall, she lay there for a moment or so, unable to move. She and the world both seemed to be reeling from the bizarre encounter.

_Oh no, this is it, I've lost it for sure… stress is one thing, but seeing dead people? This investigation's driven me insane, I should go to a clinic or something and get help, I can't take this any more - maybe I've just dreamed all this up and it really is just a conspiracy theory, and everything's fine, only I just can't see it because I've gone crazy. What's really going on? Am I right? Am I sane? Am I just imagining the whole thing? Is this real? Is anything real any more?_

"No, Bethany's dead, she's gone," Amber repeated to herself, as she tried to get back up. "She's gone, just accept it… she can't come back. She won't come back."

She stood up again after a couple of attempts, and leaned against the wall for support.

"She's dead," she repeated, trying to cling to reason in the face of hysteria. "I'm seeing things. It's not real. Maybe none of this is. Maybe this is all just some dream - or nightmare - or going crazy - oh God, I'm going insane, I must be! This is just - _madness_!"

She buried her face in her hands and breathed in slowly, to hold back the dizziness and tears and panic and the shame of having made a fool of herself. She didn't want to be the local weirdo - some crazed conspiracy theorist who did more harm than good by grabbing people in public and babbling nonsense at them.

She had to hold on. Get a grip on the situation. If it really was all real, she couldn't run the risk of cracking up like this. If it wasn't, then staying calm and composed was still her best option. If she was crazy, there was no need to advertise it to everybody. One way or another, she had to get through this with her sanity in one piece.

"Okay," she murmured, through her cupped hands, "I'm fine now. Yeah. Just a dumb mistake, that's all. It's all right. I'm good to go."

She turned around and went back inside. She still felt the quiet need to cry, but there would be plenty of time for that later. For now, she had to get back to her family.

Her father stood up as she approached the table.

"What's the matter?" he said. "Are you all right? You just rushed off like that…"

"Yeah, you kind of freaked out back there," said Jason. "What was that all about?"

Amber forced a laugh.

"Oh, I just saw someone outside and thought she was a friend of mine. We, uh, we kind of parted on bad terms and I haven't spoken to her for a while. I wanted to grab her before she went so I could apologise and - "

"I saw her through the window," Mrs Bernstein interrupted. "Didn't she hit you? You should have arrested her, Amber, that's assault! You're not hurt, are you, sweetie?"

"Nothing worse than a bruised butt," said Amber, and this was certainly true. She'd hit the concrete pretty hard when she landed; nothing serious, but she'd be sitting uncomfortably for the next couple of days. "It wasn't her fault, though. Turned out she was someone else and she thought I was some random crazy lady trying to get her, so she pushed me away, then I kind of lost my footing and went down. It's dumb really. Don't worry about it."

"I just can't believe anybody would assault a police officer like that," her mother continued, apparently refusing to let a rational explanation get in the way of some good old-fashioned moral outrage. "I don't know what this town's coming to! People these days…"

Jason clapped his hands.

"Moving on!" he announced. "Dessert, anyone?"

Amber looked down at the bare spot on the table where her plate had been.

"What happened to my food?" she said, slightly dismayed. The rush of adrenaline from the exchange outside the restaurant had brought back some of her appetite, and she'd hoped to return to the rest of her buffalo wings.

"Mom thought you weren't coming back, so I ate it," said Jason. "Sorry. Those wings looked tasty and you said you weren't hungry. I didn't think you'd mind."

Amber sighed.

"Never mind, honey, we'll just move on to dessert," said Mrs Bernstein, smiling encouragingly. "You like dessert, right?"

"I know I do," said Mr Bernstein, with an approving nod. "I think I'll have the cherry pie. Sandra, what do you think? Cherry pie?"

"Do they have lemon meringue?" said Mrs Bernstein hopefully.

"No, they've got cherry, apple or blueberry. No, wait, they have pecan too."

"Hmm… you know what, I might go with pecan. I haven't had that in a while."

"I'm having the double chocolate brownie fudge sundae," proclaimed Jason. "Double chocolate brownie fudge _rules_."

"You carry on eating all that junk food and you'll have a heart attack," warned his mother. "Your uncle Hal ate nothing but junk food for thirty years and he had three heart attacks in two weeks. The third time he didn't make it and they found him dead on the floor in his underpants. You want to end up like him?"

"Hey, at least I'll die happy," said Jason drolly.

"All right, but next time you're having something nice with fruit in it," his mother said sternly. "I know you, Jason Bernstein, you'd eat nothing but ice-cream and potato chips if you could get away with it. I don't know what it is with you kids not getting enough nutrition. It's either fat, fat, fat or practically anorexic..."

"I'm not anorexic, Mom," sighed Amber.

"And I am not fat!" said Jason, who looked appalled at the suggestion. "That's so not cool, calling me fat! Look at me, do I look fat to you?"

"You may not be fat yet, but your arteries aren't going to thank you for all that junk you keep eating," his mother warned him. "You should learn to cook and make your own food instead of living on snacks all the time. It's not healthy."

"Mom, I'm _fine_," whined Jason. "Come on, Amber cooks for me, it's cool. Like the other day, she made me that soup you always make, the one with the tomatoes and herbs and stuff."

"Well maybe it's about time you stopped relying on other people and started doing things for yourself," said his mother, folding her arms and giving him a sharp look. "I know you have a job now, but I think it's time you started thinking about getting your own place. You know, striking out on your own, making your own plans, maybe settling down…"

Jason almost choked.

"Settle down? What, are you _kidding_? I don't even have a girlfriend!"

Amber smiled, this time genuinely. It was about time Jason wound up on the receiving end of the parental nagging stick. She'd had to go through the same thing a few years before, when her mother kept asking her what she had planned for her future, and when she was going to get her own place, and maybe find herself a nice husband while she was at it. It was kind of satisfying to see her mollycoddled younger brother, who'd been the baby of the family for years, being interrogated for a change.

As the nagging and her brother's protests began to spiral out of control, Amber decided that a distraction was in order.

"_I think_," she said loudly, "I'll have the New York cheesecake."

"Oh, that's nice, they serve that with fresh raspberries," her mother said approvingly. "Good choice, sweetie. I was hoping you'd have some dessert. You look like you could use the calories."

"Oh, so she needs the calories and I'm _fat_," Jason said grumpily. "Thanks, Mom. You know I'm going to end up at the shrink because of you? When he asks me to tell him about you then he'll have to get an extra notepad, because I'm so totally blaming it all on my upbringing."

His bad mood, however, lasted only until his dessert reached the table. The sight of the mammoth glass dish - filled almost to overflowing with ice-cream and brownie pieces, dripping hot fudge sauce onto the table, and covered in chocolate sprinkles, wafers and paper umbrellas for good measure - was enough to restore his high spirits.

"Sweet! You mean I get the whole thing to myself? Okay, that does it, I'm officially stoked. I declare this the happiest birthday ever, even if it isn't mine."

The other desserts landed shortly afterwards - cherry pie for her father, pecan for her mother, and then Amber's cheesecake, which came with the anticipated raspberries and proved, on tasting, to be everything she'd ever hoped for in a cheesecake.

She must have looked happier, because halfway through her mother stopped to ask if she was okay. She'd had to think for a minute, unsure if the mistaken identity thing had messed with her head enough to ruin the day, but on reflection, she'd decided that she was okay. Her family were here to support her, and Tim's offer to fund the investigation meant that there was a real chance that the STARS might yet be vindicated. Despite all the problems, there was still hope, and the promise of better days ahead.

"Yeah," she said, and smiled. "Yeah, I'm good."


	19. At Dawn They Sleep

**19: At Dawn They Sleep**

**Tuesday 8th September, 1998**

Amber sat at her desk, surrounded by paperwork, with her head in her hands.

"Twenty days left," she murmured. "Shit."

She looked down at the piece of paper beneath her elbow, an article which had been torn from Saturday's _Raccoon Times_. It was an obituary, briefly mentioning the life and achievements of Bethany Rove, and covering in slightly more detail the girl's funeral, which had apparently been well-attended. Beneath the headline, Bethany's face, frozen in a smile, stared out at her from the photograph.

A few days ago, the sight of the dead girl's face would have provoked guilt and sorrow. Now, after so many reminders and the endless hours she'd expended on her search for justice, seeing that face smiling at her from all those newspaper articles and photographs was starting to get on Amber's nerves. It was as though her fruitless efforts were being mocked from beyond the grave. She could almost hear the scorn that might have poured from the girl's lips, had she breath enough left to speak…

_You know you'll never find those guys in twenty days. Time's running out, Amber. You said you'd find them and here you are, no closer than you were before. Are you even trying to find out who killed me?_

"Go away," said Amber, suddenly irritated, and slammed a bundle of papers down on top of the clipping to hide it from view. "I'm doing my best."

She hadn't attended the funeral. She probably should have gone, and she still felt bad about that, but the thought of having to face the girl's family and friends had made her cringe. Bethany's mother and sister had been reasonably sympathetic, given the circumstances, but other mourners would undoubtedly have placed the blame for the victim's death at her feet, and she was beginning to tire of being forced to defend herself.

In any case, Marvin had told her it wasn't a good idea, even before she'd been able to finish mentioning it. He'd suggested, tactfully, that it might have had the opposite of the intended effect and cause more offence to the victim's extended family than if she'd quietly opted to stay away.

She'd agreed. Apart from anything else, her stint as an RPD officer was due to end with the disciplinary hearing that would undoubtedly finish her career. The Chief would have found some way to use her attendance at the funeral against her, and she wasn't about to help him win that fight by providing him with ammunition.

She looked up from her desk at the office around her. It was still and unoccupied at this time of the morning, totally silent except for the ticking of the clock. Desks lay as they'd been left by their departing owners the night before - those working night shifts generally congregated in the east office, where the lighting wasn't as harsh - and apart from exchanging hellos with a hollow-eyed David Ford, who'd spent all night working in the dark room, she'd had the place entirely to herself since her arrival at dawn.

A sudden noise made her look up from the notes she was taking.

"Making an early start, Bernstein?"

The Chief was standing in the doorway at the opposite end of the room, watching her with folded arms and the incessantly smug smile she'd grown to despise.

"I do admire your dedication to duty," he added. "Others in your position tend to desert their posts as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Yet here you are, beavering away over that paperwork of yours, hours before you have to. Most commendable."

"Well, I'd hate to cut and run on you, Chief," Amber replied, looking back down at her notepad. "After all, I still have work to do here."

"Indeed," said the Chief, somewhat sourly, as he watched her return to her notes. "I trust that you've received notification of your disciplinary hearing by now. September 28th. One-thirty, in the video conferencing room."

As if she needed reminding. That letter had seared the date and time right into her brain. Some nights, when she sat in front of the television watching old sitcom re-runs until late o'clock because she couldn't sleep, it was all she could think about.

"Don't worry, Chief," she said, trying to avoid looking up at that pompous, piggy face, so the dark urge to punch the man right between the eyes wouldn't surface. "I haven't forgotten."

"I thought you might appreciate the reminder," said the Chief, with a tight, malicious little smile. "After all, you do have an unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Imagine the chaos if it were to cause you any further problems…"

Amber stopped writing and slammed down her pencil.

"And exactly what is that supposed to mean, Chief?" she said indignantly, rising to her feet.

But the Chief, still smiling to himself, had already disappeared through the other door. Left standing alone by her toppled chair, breathing deeply, Amber had no time to scold herself for letting herself rise to the taunt before someone else burst through the door.

"Hey! Bernstein! Call just came in, we got a homicide in the park! Let's go!"

Amber turned.

"What? But I'm supposed to be on patrol in - "

"No time for that now! Come on, move!"

The officer disappeared again. Amber got out from behind her desk and went to the lockers at the far end of the room to fetch her kit.

"Like I don't have enough dead people to worry about," she muttered, strapping on her body armour and reaching into the locker for her nightstick.

xxxxxxxxxx

Newbury was already alive with the sound of sirens when the squad car pulled up outside the park gates. A couple of curious passers-by were peering through the hastily erected barriers, trying to see what was going on, but their view was mostly blocked by the van marked "Coroner's Office", which had been parked in front of the gates.

"Vultures are here," remarked Amber, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Yep. Got a detective and a couple of guys on scene already. Officer Giles was the first officer in the area to respond to the call. Called in backup shortly after arrival because a member of the public reported some guy behaving suspiciously in the area nearby. She thinks he could be our perpetrator."

"What do you think?"

"I think I haven't had enough coffee or sleep for this. But Giles is right. This is a quiet neighbourhood compared to most other parts of the city. If this was Coburg or Little Estonia and someone had called in a count of suspicious behaviour, I'd ask them what else was new. But since it's here, I think the odds are pretty good that it's our guy."

"Could be. Anyone out there looking for him?"

"Kerr, Lonsdale and a couple of others. If he's still around, then we'll find him. Anyway, let's get this over with. I'll deal with the vultures, keep them out of the way of the crime scene; you go talk to Giles and Peyton, find out what's going on."

"All right."

They got out of the car and headed for the park. The wrought-iron gates were wide open, but the opening had been criss-crossed with yellow crime scene tape. While her colleague headed in the opposite direction to warn bystanders away from the area, Amber ducked under the tape and through the gateway.

Though busy and close to the city centre's traffic, Newbury was considered one of the city's more respectable neighbourhoods and, thanks to local landmarks like St Michael's Clock Tower, one of the most picturesque. This location accounted at least in part for Raccoon Park's popularity - the well-tended green space was the perfect place to meet friends, take a stroll, have a picnic, or just sit around and admire the scenery. The most recent addition to the park complex was the sports ground, a former brownfield site which overlooked a disused factory; it had been an instant hit with the locals, who had been campaigning for its redevelopment for years. There were always children there, playing football or tossing Frisbees around, and the city's Little League team used the baseball diamond for practice at weekends.

It seemed peaceful here at first. Amber walked through the main paved area, which had some benches and a little bridge over a reflecting pool, and wondered how anything bad could have happened here. There were no signs of violence or struggle, no indications aside from the presence of police that anything untoward had taken place.

A lone cop near one of the side entrances nodded her through, and then a flight of concrete steps took her down to a dilapidated boardwalk, which spanned a large, green pond filled with statues of animals. The boardwalk creaked and groaned with every step, and Amber crossed it with care, wary of loose or missing boards that could give way and plunge her chest-deep into the stagnant water.

She could hear some voices now. They seemed to be coming from the other side of the gate at the end of the boardwalk. She stepped off the boardwalk and opened the gate, just wide enough to permit her to hurry through before it closed behind her.

There were some dirt paths on the other side of the gate, edged with shrubbery, and as she drew closer to the sounds of noise and movement, Amber knew that the trouble wasn't far away.

She soon found it. Most of the action was concentrated in some undergrowth near the fence. There were patches of blood in the grass around the bushes, and Amber's heart immediately sank. She hated homicides more than anything. You could track down the criminals and bring them to justice, but whatever you did always came too late to help the victims; in such circumstances, even a successful prosecution felt like a hollow victory.

She stepped forward, taking care to avoid the Forensics personnel combing the grass for evidence, and tried to prepare herself, at least mentally, for what she was about to see. With this much blood, it would be horrible, whatever it was; the extent of it remained to be seen, but she had to be prepared for how bad it could be before she took a look. Whatever met her eyes, she couldn't faint, or scream and run away, or even, God forbid, throw up in the middle of a crime scene. Police officers didn't do things like that because they couldn't, and that was that.

_All right. You know it's going to be bad. Imagine the worst it could possibly, possibly be. Assume that's exactly what you're going to see. If it's that, then it can't possibly be any worse than that. You can cope with seeing that because you're expecting it. You know what's coming. Okay? Now take a look._

Amber moved closer, parting the undergrowth. She took a small, shallow breath to steady her nerves and stomach, and looked down.

She'd been wrong. It was much worse than she'd imagined, because it was real and right in front of her. What was lying in the grass was enough to flip the stomach of even the most hardened detective, and the smell of blood was much stronger than she'd been prepared for. It was overwhelming, everywhere… a sickening stench that seemed to cling to everything around her, as if trying to envelop her in its gory, sticky embrace.

Fighting back the urge to vomit, Amber stared down at the stricken bodies of the man and woman lying in front of her. It had been anything but a peaceful death. They'd been taken by surprise, and lay where they'd fallen, blank eyes still staring in horror at nothing. Flesh had been ripped from their faces, leaving exposed areas of bone, muscle and cartilage, and there were deep, vicious wounds on their necks and throats. Some indentations that looked suspiciously like tooth-marks were still visible in several places. The bites and scratches on their arms, legs and torsos were no less savage; their clothes had been torn to rags by the attack and the areas of flesh which had been left exposed were covered, almost completely, with a thick crust of blood.

"Wow," she said eventually. "That's nasty."

"Pretty gruesome, huh," a medical examiner agreed. "Been popping up all over town the past couple of days. Same MO each time - they surprise some poor bastard at night and then they rip into them, big time. Teeth, nails, you name it. Like rabid animals. Whoever's behind this, they've got some _serious _major shit wrong with them."

"You don't say!" snapped Ruth, from across the way. Her arms were folded and her face was set in an impatient scowl. "Now are you taking them to the morgue or not? If you are, hurry up and get them out of here, we've got work to do. If not, scram. Either way, I need a decision, stat!"

"Dead all right," reported the other medical examiner. "Come on, Hal, give me a hand with this stretcher. Let's get these poor souls out of here."

"Where we going, City Morgue?"

"Nah, City's closed, they had an inspection last week and the electric system failed the fire regs."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, they've got to shut down and rewire the place. Top to bottom. Won't be done for a couple more days, so we're diverting to the hospital morgue for now. Raccoon City General's taking up the slack while City's offline. Now are you going to give me a hand or what?"

"All right, all right, I'm coming!"

Amber looked up as the first medical examiner went to join his colleague, who was struggling to manoeuvre a stretcher along the path. She wanted to keep watching them, because they distracted her from what she would rather not have seen, but her eyes immediately darted back to what was lying in the grass in front of her.

"Any ID yet?" she could hear Ruth saying, in the background.

"Found a wallet on the guy," replied Quentin, and he held up the item for inspection with his tweezers, before bagging and sealing it. "Driver's licence and credit cards in the name of Josef Leidermann, but his face is too messed-up for a visual match. I think we'll have to pull his dental records for a positive ID."

"How about the woman?"

"Susan Leidermann, according to the work ID in her purse. Can't be sure, of course, considering how most of her face is missing."

"It's a start. Find anything else?"

"No signed confession, if that's what you mean. Killer wasn't too careful though, Milo found bloody footprints all over the place. Looking at around a size… yeah, I'd say eight and a half, but the sole pattern's pretty commonplace. We might have trouble trying to narrow that one down. Some hairs on the victims' clothing, might come from the killer - or killers. No shortage of saliva samples around the wounds. Our guy either says it and sprays it more than average, or we have our first ever werewolf suspect - from all the drool I'm guessing maybe half-man, half-St Bernard."

"Quit playing around, Quentin, this isn't funny. Derek, any thoughts?"

"Well, for one, they weren't dumped here post-mortem," said Derek. "The amount of blood here is consistent with the injuries sustained. Primary cause of death for both victims would appear to be exsanguination via the jugular artery, although the extensive maxillo-facial mutilation appears to have occurred shortly after death. Blood spatter indicates numerous signs of a struggle. I also notice that the girl's fingernails are broken. I think she put up quite a fight. The cuts on her arms look to me like defensive wounds. Judging by the blood trails over there, the attacker left the victims in the undergrowth to bleed out and then wandered off in a pretty haphazard way. The MO fits in with the pattern of recent attacks, so I think we're looking at the same group of culprits, though just one of them this time."

"Just one?"

"Yeah, there are four separate sets of footprints, but two of those can be matched to the victims. The third set belongs to the guy who found them. Poor guy was out walking his dog when the mutt suddenly went crazy and started sniffing around the bushes. See the paw-prints over there where the dog was? So that leaves one set for our killer. Guess he decided to leave the group and strike out on his own."

"One question though - liver temp for the victims indicates that the time of death was around 0300. What the hell were these two doing here in the middle of the night? I thought they locked this place up after dark?"

Derek shrugged his shoulders.

"Who can say? Perhaps they were in the mood for romance and hopped the fence to look for a good make-out spot. My girlfriend and I used to come here after-hours when we were in college, so I figure they might have had the same idea. Only these two forgot that weirdos like to hang out in secluded places at night too. This psycho must have surprised them while they were playing kissy-face."

Amber looked at the bodies again and shuddered. What a horrible way to die. They wouldn't have seen it coming until too late, and though they'd tried desperately to defend themselves, it hadn't been enough to save them from being eaten alive by a monster. They'd died, cold and alone, their screams unheard in the night.

"They must have been terrified," she said aloud.

"Excuse me, Officer Bernstein," said a polite voice at her shoulder, and Amber found herself being gently moved aside by Corey, the team photographer. "I have to take some more pictures of the bodies before they're moved."

"Uh, sure, go ahead."

Amber left him photographing the victim's bloodied corpses, and went over to talk to one of the other cops on the scene. Detective Oliver Peyton, an older man with thinning brown hair and a stern countenance, had stepped back from the carnage of the bushes a few minutes ago and was busy taking down notes. Amber realised, a little guiltily, that perhaps she should have been following suit and maybe asking a pertinent question or two, instead of gawping at the crime scene like one of the slack-jawed bystanders she kept having to move on.

"So… any suspects?" she said.

The detective's head shot up.

"Just one so far," he said, though she noticed he was still writing. "Officer Giles is with someone who claims to have seen a male acting suspiciously in the area not long after the bodies were discovered. We're hoping to track down some witnesses, but I think we might run into some difficulties, given how this part of town's practically dead in the early hours."

"Our best bet may be the hospital around the corner. We should check their shift patterns and talk to the staff who clocked in and out last night; maybe they saw or heard something on their way past here," Amber suggested.

This seemed to pique Peyton's interest.

"Hmm. Good call, Lieutenant, although I have a feeling we'll have to race the _Raccoon Times_ newshounds there. Unfortunately for us, people prefer talking to the press than the police."

"And they generally don't like admitting to being in close proximity to a murder round about the time it happened."

Peyton smiled, a little unenthusiastically.

"Yeah, that too. We'll have to be careful with that line of questioning. Then again, we might get some interesting responses."

"Like four-letter ones."

"You're a little young to be that cynical, Lieutenant… but yeah, you're right. I've been told to go screw myself more often than I can count. I always tell 'em if I could do that, I'd never leave the house."

"Mm," said Amber, trying hard not to smile at this. "I'm going to speak to Officer Giles. Perhaps she can shed some more light on what happened."

"Doubt it, but go ahead. The more heads we have to put together, the more suggestions we can come up with."

Amber left the detective to his notes and went over to Officer Giles, the first responder to the crime scene. Officer Giles, a sweet-faced blonde with a bobbed haircut and a pleasant lilt to her voice, was sitting on a bench beside a middle-aged woman in a lurid pink tracksuit and running shoes. A very small, fluffy dog with a pink collar was sitting at the woman's feet; another dog-walker, it seemed. What was it about murder scenes that seemed to attract people walking their dogs?

"… so you said this guy was in the vicinity of the park when you arrived?" Officer Giles prompted.

"Yeah, I got here about an hour ago," said the woman, and Amber tried not to wince. There was something about that accent which grated; a harsh vocal quality, coupled with a slight upper-class drawl for maximum irritation. "He was just outside the park fence when I arrived, heading away from the hospital. Weird guy. Really weird."

"Weird in what way, Mrs Wrigley?" said Officer Giles patiently. "Perhaps you could describe him for me?"

"Sure, he was - well, you know, weird. Suspicious-looking. Tall guy, dark hair."

"What kind of build? Was he a big man? Thin? Medium build?"

"No, he wasn't a big guy. Not big as in fat. More… I'd say medium build. Looked kind of thin in the face, though, like he hadn't eaten or slept in a while. His clothes were all torn up and dirty too. I thought maybe he was a derelict at first. You see them more and more in the city nowadays. It's not like it used to be when I was young and people still had some self-respect… you people should really get those crazies off the streets before they start causing trouble."

Officer Giles scribbled some notes.

"Okay. Any distinguishing features? Anything unusual you noticed about his appearance?"

"I remember some bloodstains on his shirt and his arms, like he'd been fighting. And he kept swaying as he walked, from side to side. Like I said, I thought he was some crazy homeless guy. Probably a drinker. He acted drunk. He couldn't even walk in a straight line and he kept groaning quietly to himself, like he was in pain somehow. Oh, and I think he had a skin disease of some kind, because he was scratching his arm a lot."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, just groaned to himself a few times and walked on. Sometimes he stopped and just kind of stared into space, then he walked off. The minute he got out of sight I went straight to a payphone. I'm sure he was up to something, the way he was acting. Normal people don't go round covered in blood."

"You did the right thing to report this to us, Mrs Wrigley," said Officer Giles. "Thank you for your assistance. We'll get right back to the station and file a report. Perhaps you could give us an official statement at a later date if this person turns out to be linked to our investigation…?"

"Of course," said the woman, nodding vigorously. "If there's anything I can do to help the police make our city safer, then just give me a call any time. You have my contact details there?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you once again, you've been very helpful. I'll let you get back to walking your dog now."

With a smug expression on her face, the woman stood up and walked away. It seemed to be all she could do not to give herself a pat on the back for having been such a good citizen; while Amber knew that the woman's account would be of use, she couldn't help disliking the almost gleeful way in which she'd recounted the sighting, as though she hoped it would get another undesirable "crazy homeless guy" off the streets and into a cell somewhere, where the people she probably thought of as good law-abiding citizens couldn't be inconvenienced by them.

The woman's dog started to yip angrily as they passed Amber, straining at its leash as if it were dying for the chance to snap at her ankles. Amber resisted the temptation to give the animal a good kick up the rear, and instead went to sit beside Officer Giles on the bench.

"Hey, Amy," she greeted her. "What's the latest on our suspect?"

"Oh, hey Amber," said Officer Giles, brightening. "Didn't see you there. Yeah, Mrs Wrigley over there was giving me the lowdown on some suspicious guy she saw about an hour ago. An hour, damn it… he could be anywhere by now."

"We've got plenty of people out there looking for him," Amber reminded her. "They're bound to pick him up sooner or later. If he's staggering like she said, I doubt he'll be moving very fast, so he won't get the chance to get too far away."

Amy didn't look too convinced.

"Maybe," she said. "I hope they do. I think he might be our only lead in this case. The guy who found the bodies had to be given medical attention because he fainted and hit his head, and he was such a mess when he came round, we could hardly get two words out of him. I've never seen anyone look so shaken-up in my whole life."

"Forensics seem to think this might be another one of those cannibal attacks," Amber said. "What's your take on this? Do you think they're right?"

Amy sighed.

"Unfortunately, I have to agree with them," she said. "These cannibal-type attacks seem to be cropping up more and more often since the STARS investigation. We still haven't completely ruled out rumours of cult activity at this stage. I kind of wonder if the attacks are on the increase as part of some kind of plan they've got, you know, maybe something that's going to lead to something much bigger and more serious. Like one of those doomsday cults, the ones who think the world's about to end and start committing suicide en masse?"

Amber gave a diplomatic nod, not wanting to rush in and dispel the notion immediately. It wasn't correct, but it was the kind of theory that might perhaps be gently steered towards one more closely resembling the truth by careful application of conversation topics. That, however, could wait. She continued:

"Have you put the word out on this guy, so everyone knows what to look out for?"

"Yeah, we already got some basic details from Mrs Wrigley when she first called us to report her sighting. I was just trying to get her to go into more depth about what she saw. I'm going to relay the extra information to HQ now."

They both stood up and went back towards the spot where the bodies had been found.

"Well, not much more we can do here," said Amy. "Park's been closed off and there wasn't anyone else here when we arrived, apart from Mrs Wrigley and the other dog-walker. I think our best bet is to keep searching the surrounding area and let Forensics process the evidence."

"Thinking the same thing," said Amber. "Let's go find Detective Peyton and check out the hospital round the corner, see if they can help us."

The medical examiners were loading the second body into the back of the van by the time the three police officers left the park. A sheet had been draped over the corpse for the sake of dignity, although the fingertips of one blood-encrusted hand were just visible. Amber shuddered as the van doors were slammed closed. She'd heard how zombie victims could come back to life and attack the living, having become zombies themselves.

"I hope they're going to be okay," she said, without thinking.

Amy turned to stare at her.

"What, you mean the victims?" she said. "You did see them, right?"

"No, not them," said Amber. "I mean the medical examiners."

"Oh, they'll be fine. I'm sure they've seen a lot worse than this. I bet they get called out to accidents all the time where people are badly burned or missing limbs and worse."

"Yeah, but still… I hope nothing happens."

Amy just smiled.

"Nothing will happen to them, Amber," she said. "Homicide isn't contagious. It's not like you can catch murder from murder victims."

"You know, I'm starting to wonder about that," said Amber.

Amy looked puzzled.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

So much for that nudge towards the truth, thought Amber, trying not to sigh. It seemed that people still weren't prepared to believe the unbelievable, even when there were cannibalised victims lying dead practically right in the middle of the city.

"Never mind," she said. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough who's behind all this. We just have to keep digging."

_Yeah, we're digging all right_, she thought to herself, as the coroner's van drove away and the lights from other emergency vehicles painted the neighbouring buildings blue and red. _Digging ourselves into our own graves, a little more every day…_

xxxxxxxxxx

**Wednesday 9th September, 1998**

The video conference room wasn't one that Amber often had chance to visit. It was roughly the same size as its counterpart in the west wing, but unlike the regular conference room, where most police briefings took place, it looked less like a classroom and more like a television studio.

Despite Chief Irons' trumpeting that video conferencing was the way ahead and that the video cameras and TV screens had been a good investment for the force, the room was rarely used. Only when the occasional high-profile case came along and the media had to be briefed was the dust blown off the expensive equipment and all the junk and spare office supplies cleared out to make room for people.

After a hasty clean-out and some rearranging of furniture and equipment, the room was ready for use. Chairs had been set out in front of the main desk in neat rows and these were now full of keen-looking, slightly restless reporters, their pens and notebooks already poised and waiting for the first scraps of news.

Strictly speaking, Amber wasn't supposed to be here. It was so early that it was still dark outside and her shift didn't start for hours, but she'd been curious as to how Chief Irons would deal with such an event and, more importantly, how he'd cope with the searching questions of Raccoon City's finest newshounds, some of whom could probe a needle out of a haystack with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and an innocent query. She'd managed to sneak in behind a particularly rotund man from the _Rose Bay City Telegraph_ and was now peering from behind a pillar, waiting for the proceedings to start.

Some minutes later, a couple of uniformed officers filed in and took their places at the desk which faced the audience. One was Chief Irons; the others were Officer Giles and Detective Peyton. The reporters' speculative murmuring began to build, until at last the call for quiet went up.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," the Chief began calmly, as cameras flashed around him. "My name is Chief Irons of the Raccoon Police Department. On my right is Detective Peyton, and sitting here on my left is Officer Giles."

He gestured briefly to the two people sitting on either side of him, then cleared his throat and carried on.

"As most of you are probably aware, there has been a significant police presence in the Newbury area since yesterday morning and there are a lot of rumours going around the city. We understand that the current situation may be causing some concern to members of the public, and so we'd like to take this opportunity to address the issues at hand and to provide reassurance to the people of Raccoon City. I'm now going to hand over to Detective Peyton, who is currently in charge of investigating the incident in question. Detective, if you'd like to continue…"

Detective Peyton's face had remained granite-like throughout this introduction, as was his custom, though Amber noticed that he blanched, very slightly, upon being asked to address the waiting journalists. He clearly didn't relish the prospect of taking centre-stage, particularly with the more scandal-hungry reporters starting to lean forward, ready to pounce on the first words that came out of his mouth. However, he nodded, and took over.

"In the early hours of Tuesday morning, the Raccoon Police Department received a 911 call from a member of the public, stating that two people had been brutally attacked in the vicinity of Raccoon Park," he told the room. "Emergency teams responded to the call and upon arrival at Raccoon Park, two bodies were discovered in the undergrowth. They were taken to Raccoon City General Hospital and after being declared dead on arrival, they were transferred to the morgue for autopsy. Formal identification has already taken place and after a brief discussion with the next of kin, we can now confirm the identities of the victims."

Amber had expected plenty of clamour, noise, uproar… instead there was a calm, almost clinical silence, and an air of deep concentration as the journalists scribbled down their shorthand. It was interrupted only occasionally by clicks and camera flashes from the photographers in the audience.

"The names of the deceased persons are Josef and Susan Leidermann, both aged 28. Mr and Mrs Leidermann lived and worked in the Newbury area of the city and had recently married. So far there appears to be no apparent motive for the attack, but this is an ongoing investigation and our enquiries are continuing. We are currently appealing for witnesses and information from anyone who believes they may be able to assist us with our investigation, and -"

A blonde journalist in a red trouser-suit stood up, interrupting him mid-flow.

"Alyssa Ashcroft, _Raccoon Times_. Is this another cannibal attack, Detective? Our sources informed us that the victims were bitten to death," she said sharply.

This seemed to stir up interest in the crowd, and several journalists looked up, hoping for some extra morsels of information. Detective Peyton scowled at the interruption.

"Miss Ashcroft, as I said already, we are still investigating this incident and possible motives for the crime," he said. "At this stage, we can neither confirm nor deny rumours of cannibalism, but according to the initial findings of our Forensics department, it appears that the couple were bitten in the neck repeatedly until they died, and that saliva found near the wounds has been identified as human DNA, not animal. We would therefore advise members of the public to be on their guard while in the area, and to report anything unusual or suspicious to the police."

"Fiona Bernhardt, _Raccoon Today_!" shouted another woman across the room, apparently emboldened by the first journalist's example. "Do you have any potential suspects in this case?"

Peyton looked even more irritated by this outburst. Amber noticed he was starting to sweat a little. She wondered if it was nervousness, or whether it was just from being under the hot glow of the lights.

"We currently have no official suspects in the case," he said, this time in a voice as deadpan as his usual expression, perhaps hoping to discourage further questions by showing an apparent disinclination to rise to the reporters' bait. Despite this sound reasoning, Amber doubted that this tactic would put them off. Raccoon City's reporters were notorious for their tenacity and many were considered pushy even by normal industry standards.

"However," said Peyton, slightly louder, to make his voice stand out over the growing noise from the seating area, "we do wish to speak to an individual who was seen in the area by another member of the public at around the time the bodies were discovered. The individual we're currently seeking is a white male in his thirties with dark-hair, medium build, roughly five feet ten inches in height, and believed to be suffering from some kind of skin condition. We are unable to confirm at this time whether this man is a suspect or a potential eyewitness in this case, but we believe he may have valuable information regarding this incident and strongly urge him to come forward. We would also advise the public to stay alert and to notify the police immediately of any potential sightings of this individual. We do not, however, advise them to approach him, as we cannot exclude the possibility that he may have played some part in this incident. If this does prove to be the case, he could potentially pose a threat to other members of the public."

There was another, louder stirring from the amassed press representatives, whose scribbling grew even more frantic, and then the barrage of questions began in earnest.

"Were the victims killed in Raccoon Park, or were they just left there?"

"Is this incident related to the other recent attacks?"

"Do you believe there's some kind of cult involvement in this case, Detective?"

"Raccoon Park is still closed - when will it re-open?"

"Should our readers avoid the Newbury area for the duration of this investigation?"

"What do you intend to do to protect the people of this city from random cannibal attacks? Is it safe to walk the streets?"

"When are you going to find the people responsible for these attacks?"

The photographs had been sporadic at first, but now the bright white flashes from the press cameras were incessant - the room and everything in it looked as though it was being strobe-lit. Amber also couldn't help noticing the fact that Detective Peyton was starting to look more and more uncomfortable with the prospect of having to answer so many loaded questions, especially given the fact that his boss was sitting right next to him and there were dozens of people in the audience just waiting for him to put a foot wrong.

"All right, everybody, calm down!" Amy urged, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd of rising journalists. "I understand you all have a lot of questions but please, one at a time!"

It was then that it struck Amber that this was the room where her disciplinary hearing was due to be held. In just over two weeks, she'd be standing in front of Chief Irons and whoever was on the disciplinary panel, right where the rows of chairs currently were. Right now the journalists seemed to be gleefully flinging awkward questions at the cops, but soon the boys in blue would be asking awkward questions of their own, and they'd be directed straight at her. Awkward questions about why she'd acted the way she did, posed in the kind of way that would trip her up the instant she made any kind of attempt to answer them… the kind of questions whose wording would make damn sure that she was given plenty of rope with which to hang herself.

Loaded questions. They were far more dangerous than loaded guns, in their own way, and just as capable of ending a career in a flash. She would have preferred to have been gunned down on the job than be strung up by her own boss with her own words, but what could she do to avoid that fate now? Simply saying the hell with it all and walking away still wasn't an option, and never would be, because she'd have to live with herself afterwards, but the other choices - if you could even call them that - weren't much of an improvement. Short of "accidentally" Macing herself while on patrol or finding an overnight solution to the Umbrella/zombie issue, her only option was to face the possible end of her career head-on and see what happened next.

As the press conference degenerated into the usual borderline anarchy that passed for freedom of expression, Amber decided that it would be a good time to leave before the Chief spotted her. Fortunately he'd been concentrating on his own jowly reflection on the TV monitors rather than the people in the room, but luck only stretched so far and she'd already spent more than enough time standing here brooding on her future doom.

She managed to slip out of the room, unnoticed by the press or the preening Chief. Closing the door softly behind her, she hurried back along the corridor and through the precinct's east wing.

So, she thought, the Chief had handled things pretty well, right up until the usual mess that media Q&A sessions inevitably became at the end of a press conference. She had to hand it to him, the man had a way with words. But that was how he controlled people, wasn't it? He used words to twist their thoughts and deeds until he had them too scared to move so much as a muscle or even blink without his say-so. He found ways to play people, and no matter what they did to avoid it, no matter how hard they fought to escape, they always ended up dancing into his hands.

Not her, though. No matter what he did to try and destroy her, she wouldn't give up. She'd keep going no matter how many times she was told to stop. She'd keep being strong, in the face of the odds, and do her duty even if it set the whole world against her in the process. So what if imminent catastrophe beckoned? Her own personal plight was no reason to let down STARS and everyone else who was looking to her for justice. If there was to be any hope of exposing Umbrella and its crimes, she had to be as determined to succeed as her enemies were to see her fall.

Hearing or no hearing, she'd see this one through to the bitter end, and she'd win. She'd win, damn it. She had to win, because she knew deep in her bones that if she lost this fight, then both she and Raccoon City were doomed.

xxxxxxxxxx

Jason was watching television when Amber got home that evening. He was sitting upside-down on the couch, with his legs dangling over the top and his head on the edge of the seat.

"Comfortable?" Amber teased.

"Sure," said Jason. "I do it all the time."

"Weirdo. What are you watching?"

"Soap opera. I think it's in Spanish."

"You don't speak Spanish. How do you know what's going on?"

"I don't. I'm only watching because the cartoons finished and I've seen everything on the gaming channel already. After a while they just repeat the same stuff over and over. Gets kind of lame after a while."

"I wouldn't know, I have a job," said Amber, throwing her jacket at him.

"Hey, so do I," said Jason, sitting up and throwing it back. "Mr Z sent me home early today because we didn't have any customers. It's been way quieter than usual. I think everyone's staying indoors because of that park attack. Did you hear about that?"

"Yeah, I heard about it all right," said Amber. "Saw it too. Nasty as hell. We had a press conference first thing this morning. Would've been before the print deadline, so I figure it's probably all over the papers by now."

"Yep," said Jason. "Grabbed a paper for you on my way home. It's all over the front page. I left it on the table if you want to read."

"Thanks."

Amber was about to go into the kitchen, but she was stopped in the doorway by the sound of knocking from the front door. She stiffened, exchanging wary looks with her startled brother, then she crept over to the front door.

"Who's there?" she called out, already reaching towards her holster for the gun she'd been given.

"It's okay - it's Brad," she heard a muffled male voice reply.

She relaxed a little.

"Is anyone with you?" she said, letting her shoulders untense but keeping her guard up, in case it was some kind of trick and there was something else waiting for her on the other side.

"No, just me. Is it okay if I come in?"

Amber pressed her ear against the door and listened closely. There was only the sound of someone's slow, regular breathing. More noises would have indicated deception and the presence of others, and too much of the heavy silence that went with suppressing noise would have been equally suspicious, but what she heard was reassuring. Just one person, one who wasn't trying to avoid making any sound.

"Sure," she said, unlocking the door again and opening it.

Brad walked in, and immediately raised his eyebrows as he saw the gun in Amber's hand.

"Thought I was someone else?" he said.

"I wasn't expecting any visitors," replied Amber, putting her gun back in its holster. "Why are you here, Brad? Has something happened?"

"No, nothing's happened," said Brad. He looked slightly put-out by her response. "I just thought I'd stop by and see how you guys were doing. What, am I only allowed to come over if something bad happens now?"

"Sorry," said Amber. "I didn't mean it like that. I just wish you'd called first, let me know you were coming over. Still, it's good timing, I was just about to make some coffee. Would you like some?"

Brad nodded his head.

"Coffee sounds good."

"Okay. Take a seat, I'll be right in."

"Hey, Brad," said Jason, as his sister disappeared into the kitchen. "What's up, amigo?"

"Not a whole lot," said Brad. "I noticed the record store's closed today. Something up with Mr Ziegler?"

"Nah, he's doing good, business just sucks lately so he closed up early. We think it's that attack in the park. It looks like everybody's staying at home right now."

Amber listened to them talk as she got out the coffee cups and started making some fresh coffee, not out of any particular desire to hear what they were saying but simply because the conversation was there.

"So, you doing okay?"

"Sure, dude, I'm fine. I'm not scared. I've got my big sis looking out for me, right?"

"Yeah, you're lucky to have her around," she heard Brad say, and she smiled to herself. "She's one of the best we've got. Stick with her and you'll be just fine."

A moment later, Brad poked his head through the kitchen doorway.

"Hey, mind if I come in?"

"Don't feel like sitting down?" she said. "Sure, come in. I'm almost done with your coffee."

"Thanks."

Something in the room seemed to change when Brad came in through the door and leaned against one of the kitchen counters. Before the kitchen had felt normal; now she was suddenly very aware of his presence. His proximity and the fact that he was looking at her seemed to have filled the space with tension.

"Hey," he said, a touch awkwardly. "I'm sorry about the sudden visit. It's just the whole park thing… oh, I don't know, maybe it's dumb really, but I was worried about you two. Especially when I saw the record store was closed today. I thought maybe something had happened, so I came over to make sure you and Jason were okay. Everybody seems so scared over this thing. I guess I just wanted some reassurance that things were okay here."

"Thanks, Brad," she said, smiling. "We're doing fine, but I'm glad you stopped by. We haven't had many visitors lately, not counting zombies."

Brad looked panicked.

"More zombies?"

"Kidding," she reassured him. "Just the one so far."

She turned back again to pour the coffee and add some sugar to hers. She gave both mugs a stir, and handed one to Brad.

"Here you go - oh, wait, I forgot. Did you want cream or sugar?"

"Would that be okay? Sorry, I didn't want to ask - "

"No, no, it's fine," she assured him, taking the mug back again. "What did you want?"

"Milk and two sugars, please," said Brad meekly.

Amber swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.

"Same as Joseph," she said.

Brad looked down.

"Uh, yeah… I guess so. Sorry, I - "

"It's fine," she said, trying to laugh. "Just a second, I'll get the milk out for you."

She went to open the fridge and peered into it for a moment, pretending to look for the milk so she could try to cool the burning blush on her cheeks. Her whole face felt like it was on fire.

"It's in the door," Brad pointed out.

"Oh! Yeah, I knew that," said Amber, with another nervous laugh. "You know what, Jason moves everything around, I never know where anything is any more…"

She poured a little milk into Brad's coffee, spooned in some sugar, and handed it back to him.

"Thanks," said Brad.

They stood in silence, looking at each other from opposite sides of the room.

"So… how are things back at the precinct?" he said at last. "Any news?"

"Well, we haven't seen Bernie McGee in a while," said Amber. "He went on sick leave a couple of weeks ago but I haven't heard anything from him since. Hope nothing's taken a bite out of him."

"Nah, he was sick for a couple of days, that's all."

"Then how come he's not back at work?"

"Sad story, actually. He was driving into work the day he was due back when all of a sudden, this truck pulled out of a side junction and slammed right into the side of his car. The poor guy broke his leg in five places. They had to put him in traction so he can't even go anywhere. All he can do is lie in bed, reading magazines and running up a nice fat medical bill at Raccoon City General."

"Poor Bernie," said Amber. "We never heard anything about an accident. How did you find out?"

"His aunt lives a couple of doors down from my mom and they go to the same coffee mornings. Mom's been keeping me posted on how he's doing."

"We'll have to send him some flowers or something. How is your mom, anyway?"

"Oh, she's fine. A little grouchy lately, but that's Mom for you. How about your folks?"

"They're fine too. Thanks for asking."

There was some more silence, until Brad eventually cleared his throat.

"I, uh… I brought some video games over for Jason," he said. "I thought he might be getting bored with the ones he had."

He pulled a couple of video game boxes out of his jacket pockets and passed them over to her. Amber read through the titles, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless, then called out:

"Hey, Jason, Brad's brought you something! Come take a look."

Jason wandered in, in his usual aimless fashion. He looked quizzically at Brad, then at his sister, but his eyes lit up when he saw what she was holding.

"Dude, you brought me some games?" he said. "Sweet! What'd you bring me?"

Amber proferred the boxes and Jason greedily snatched them up, one by one, thumbing through them to look at the titles.

"_Death Cars_! _Urban Soldier_… _Urban Soldier 2, _awesome... _Subliminal Warfare_… whoa, _High School Cheerleaders Go Postal_, that's the special anniversary edition, right? And - no way. Seriously, no way! That isn't what I think it is… is it?"

"_Indiscriminate Justice III: Collateral Damage_," Brad proudly announced. "Got it last week."

"It only came out last week! You mean you finished it already?"

"Yeah, but you can have it for a few weeks if you want. I'm trying to beat my neighbour at _Ultimate Pong_ again. He said I'd never beat his high score but I'm almost there. I just need some practice."

Other gamers might have laughed scornfully at Brad's earnest preference for an _Ultimate Pong_ high score over a triumphant replay of the very latest must-have video game, but Jason, who loved any and all video games regardless of their age, graphics, provenance or difficulty, just nodded.

"Sure. That's cool. You're sure you don't mind me hanging on to these for a while?"

"Of course."

Jason's face was a textbook illustration of glee.

"Brad, you rule! Seriously, if you weren't a dude, I'd totally marry you or something…"

Brad smiled.

"Just a thank you is fine."

"Thanks bro! I'll take good care of them, I promise!"

Jason hurried away, beaming, with the prized video games held carefully to his chest. Within moments, the sound of chaos was erupting from the living room.

"Cheerleaders going postal?" said Amber.

"Nah, that sounds like _Indiscriminate Justice _to me."

"Indiscriminate something, anyway…"

There were some explosions, and a shout of "YEAH! OH HELL YEAH!" from the next room. Amber smiled again.

"That was a kind thought, Brad," she said, turning back to face him. "Jason was getting bored with the games he had here. He's just been playing them over and over lately. I think you may have found yourself a new best friend."

"Well, I hope he likes them," said Brad. "I wanted to do something to help. I feel kind of useless now I'm out of STARS and everyone else has skipped town, so I figured if I could do something helpful for somebody… well, you know…"

He trailed off, looking faintly embarrassed.

"I understand," said Amber. "I feel pretty helpless myself, now that Chris and the others are gone. I wish they were still here. I miss them."

"Yeah, me too," said Brad. "But don't worry, you've still got me."

Amber felt the blush stealing back across her face.

"Yeah, I guess so," she mumbled, wishing it wasn't so obvious when she blushed. She didn't feel so much strawberry-blonde right now as strawberry-red.

Brad coughed.

"Anyway," he said, putting down his coffee. "I've been thinking. You know, about what you told me."

Amber tried to remember what she'd said to Brad the last time she saw him. Unfortunately, that conversation had taken place late at night, and tiredness had dulled much of the memory. It could have related to a couple of things, although she wasn't sure which one he meant.

"About what?"

"When you asked me if I could take care of Jason for a while?" Brad prompted.

"Oh, yeah," said Amber, nodding. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, I was thinking about it again today, and I just wanted to tell you that the offer's still open, if you want him to come stay with me for a while," said Brad, adding, "You can both come and stay, if you want. In fact, I'd be kind of glad if you did. I've been keeping track of the reports in the news and it looks like things are getting worse. The attacks are increasing, and what's more, they're starting to head this way."

"I know, it's beginning to get to me," Amber admitted. "On the other hand, I've been thinking about what Barry said about the attacks. You live further east in the city than I do and he said there've been attacks out where you are. I'm starting to wonder if it's any safer at your place than it is here."

"Maybe not," said Brad. "On the other hand, everyone in my neighbourhood goes armed, so there are more people out there picking off zombies. The mailman said he's seen people walking around at night with baseball bats and shotguns actually _looking_ for zombies to take out. Well, actually he said they were looking for cannibals, but unfortunately we know better."

"Like a kind of twisted Neighbourhood Watch," said Amber, but she smiled. "They have more sense than anyone else in town. Get 'em before they get you, huh?"

"I think it's more of a convenient excuse to go round in mobs looking for a fight and something to beat senseless," Brad conceded. "On the plus side, it distracts everyone from regular crime and nobody's going to complain to the police if they blow off some cannibal heads. Not that anyone bothers complaining to the police in my part of town any more."

Amber sighed.

"Vigilantes, huh? Oh well, I just hope they can tell the difference between zombies and people at night. Not a good place to fall out of a bar if there's an angry mob around the corner looking for someone who staggers and moans incoherently."

"So what do you think?" said Brad. "Safer than here?"

"Possibly," said Amber, with reluctance. "On the other hand, I don't want to leave my apartment and Jason definitely won't go without me. Best if we stick together. There's safety in numbers."

"Well, the other reason I wanted to suggest it was because it's closer to the edge of town," said Brad. "I figured if things got really bad and we have to get out of town fast, then we'd be right by the freeway. If the transport network goes down and the roads are jammed with people trying to leave, then you and Jason could end up stuck in the middle of town surrounded by zombies. Whereas if the three of us are holed up in Masefield Park, we can be out of town in a couple of minutes."

"What if everyone's stuck on the freeway?"

"Then I know a couple of short-cuts," said Brad. "I've been planning this for a while. Things are going to get much worse before they get better, and I want to know I can get out of town quickly if I have to."

"Why don't you leave now?" said Amber. "That way you don't have to worry about beating the rush. I mean, if you're not attached to STARS then why are you sticking around waiting for things to get worse?"

"It's home," said Brad, with a helpless little shrug. "And my mom won't leave Raccoon City unless it's practically burning down around her, so I kind of have to stay. And then there's you and Jason... I have to stay and take care of you. I mean," he said, going red, "Jill's leaving town soon, and when she does, I'll be the only STARS member left. One of us has to stick around and make sure you're safe."

"Well, I don't know why they call you Chickenheart, Brad," said Amber, raising her eyebrows. "If I didn't have any responsibilities here then I'd skip town and take my folks with me tomorrow. It's pretty brave of you to stick around just to make sure we're safe, considering there's zombies and mobs chasing each other round your neighbourhood."

Brad laughed unexpectedly.

"They're not actually chasing each other," he said. "You make it sound like _The Benny Hill Show _out there. Still, I'd be happier if you and Jason were somewhere I could keep a closer eye on you, or even out of town."

"You know why we can't skip town, Brad," said Amber. "I'm not done with Umbrella, and like I said, Jason won't leave without me."

Brad looked disappointed, but said that he understood.

"You do?"

"Now that you mention it, no. Look, are you sure you won't come with me? I know my place isn't much, but I'll take good care of you, and if we have to get out of town then I know the fastest way to do it. I may not be as brave as Chris and Jill, but you can count on me to get you out of danger."

"Thanks for the offer, Brad. I really appreciate it and all, but I still think we're better off here for now," said Amber. "We've been through a lot of upheaval lately and I'm trying to keep things as normal as possible for Jason. I don't think moving him round from place to place again is going to help much. But if things get worse and we have to clear out, I might take you up on it later. I mean, if that's all right with you."

Brad nodded.

"Sure. You're always welcome."

The conversation halted there, as neither of them knew what to say next. Instead they finished their coffee, occasionally exchanging looks.

As she watched Brad cross the room to put his mug in the sink, it occurred to her that Brad wasn't really the permanently anxious wimp she'd heard endless "Chickenheart" jokes about. He was shy, granted, but perhaps a shade braver than people gave him credit for. A coward wouldn't stick around in a neighbourhood like his for long, especially now, and definitely not for the sake of someone else's safety.

In fact, once you got past the jumpy exterior, he came across as a patient, thoughtful guy whose reputation for faint-heartedness didn't seem entirely fair. And now that she looked at him, she realised that he was quite handsome, although like most people she'd only really noticed the look of mild panic on his face, at least until now…

He glanced up and caught her eye.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," said Amber hurriedly, trying to hide her burning cheeks. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Brad went over to her, and suddenly he was right up close. She could smell his aftershave, the coffee he'd been drinking, even faint hints of soap and chewing gum.

"Are you sure?" he said, touching her on the shoulder. "You don't look so good."

Involuntarily, Amber flinched at his touch. It felt nice, but that was why she wanted to draw away from it. It shouldn't have felt nice. Part of her quite liked Brad, and another part just yearned endlessly for someone to hold, but the rest of her was screaming that this was all wrong.

She looked up into his eyes. She hadn't really seen them up close before, or at least if she had, then she didn't remember his face ever being this close to hers. They were gentle eyes; a warm, deep brown. They were surprisingly pleasant to look into.

"I'm okay," she said quietly.

She'd never thought, in a million years, that someone like Brad would ever supplant Joseph in her life, and she'd been so horrified by the idea that she'd cast it as far away from her as possible.

The funny thing was, it didn't seem quite so impossible now. And she felt so guilty about that, she wanted to break down and cry. This wasn't fair. How could she feel this way? How could she go through all this again, with her poor lost love gone without trace and so many conflicting emotions going on all at once… how the hell was she supposed to know whether she should push away someone who loved her or just accept that Joseph was gone for good and start afresh? Would Brad get hurt if he got too close to her? Would she? What about Joseph?

"Amber? What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said bleakly. It was a complete lie. Brad's lips seemed closer to hers the more she looked at him, and she wanted to pull him closer and push him away almost in the same thought. She'd never felt such simultaneous longing and wretchedness in her whole life. She wanted to be held, so much, and a kiss would be so easy, but Joseph was always so close to her thoughts that it seemed like a betrayal of everything. He'd hardly been dead any time at all and even if she could and should move on, this was too soon…

After four or five seconds, Brad pulled away. If he'd had anything in mind, he must have decided against it. Amber almost cried with relief and disappointment as he took a couple of steps back from her.

"Are you _sure _you're okay?" he said.

"Just tired," said Amber, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."

"Well, if you're sure…"

Uncertainty passed briefly across his face, like a cloud across the sun, but then he coughed and the moment of doubt was dispelled. He glanced at his watch, then at the door.

"Anyway, I'd better go," he said at last. "It's getting late and I need to pick up some groceries on the way home."

"Okay."

Brad paused in the doorway.

"Thanks for coffee, by the way. And I'm glad you and Jason are okay. If you guys need anything, you know, if Jason wants more video games or whatever, just give me a call. Any time you want."

"Will do. Thanks, Brad."

Brad smiled in response, and left. She heard Jason shout a goodbye to him over the video game noise, and then the door slammed shut.

"It's okay, I'll get it!" Jason called out to her from the living room, and she heard him go over to the door.

Various bolts and other security measures clicked, and then she heard the sound of running feet back towards the couch, followed by more car crashes and sirens as Jason resumed his game.

Amber, now alone and feeling oddly forlorn, sat down at the kitchen table. This wasn't what she'd expected to happen, which came as a relief in some ways, but somehow this didn't feel right either. She buried her head in her arms, trying to stem the silent tears and work out what was going on in her head.

She decided, eventually, that crying wouldn't improve her situation or make things less complicated, so she got up, rinsed out the coffee mugs and went to wash her face. She didn't want Jason to amble into the kitchen for snack food or a drink and come across her looking upset. She'd cried too much lately and it would only upset him without good cause.

Once she'd regained her composure and fixed her make-up accordingly, she went back into the living room. Jason was still transfixed by the action on screen, and barely even gave her a glance until she sat down on the couch next to him.

"Hey," she said. "How's it going? Still blowing things up?"

"Pretty good so far," said Jason, tapping away at buttons ferociously, as though the very existence of the universe depended upon his efforts. "If I blow up the hospital and the retirement village, I can get onto the freeway and go after the last few terrorists. I just tried to drive-by a couple of them at the strip mall, but I missed and strafed the pet store instead."

Amber put her hand to her mouth.

"That's awful!"

"It's okay," Jason chirped, misinterpreting her horror as sympathy for his plight. "There's only three more to kill on this level and I've got five minutes left on the clock. I can probably get at least one of them if I take out the dolphin sanctuary."

"Jason, that's obscene. Where do you get this stuff?"

"This? Brad gave me this one. It's the new _Indiscriminate Justice _game. It's badass, too. Much better than the last one. The last one was lame. There wasn't any blood and you only got to run over one terrorist at a time. And you couldn't blow up cop cars either."

"I think I'd better talk to Brad about his taste in video games," said Amber disapprovingly. "I'm starting to wonder if he's a bad influence on you."

"Are you kidding? He's awesome. You should totally marry him."

Amber tensed, for just a second, but breathed out again when she realised he probably wasn't serious.

"I thought I was second in line," she teased, poking him in the ribs.

"He's a dude, I can't marry him," Jason said, a touch dismissively, and swatted her away. "That would be too weird. I mean, don't get me wrong, one of my college buddies is into guys, but that's not really my scene, you know? Besides, I think he likes _you.._."

He made smoochy noises and Amber hit him with a cushion.

"You're such a jerk sometimes."

"No, seriously sis, I think he likes you. You should go out with him or something. I'm cool with it as long as you don't start making out in front of me and calling each other stupid gooey names and stuff. I mean, you might as well, right? Joseph was a great guy and all, but he's gone, and he's not coming back. You'll have to start looking for someone else sooner or later."

"Well, I think it's a little soon to come to any decisions like that," said Amber, stung by the comment. "I want to wait a while longer before I start thinking about another relationship."

"Leave it too long and it'll be too late," was Jason's reply. "How do you know he won't get bored of waiting around and find someone else to go out with? I say go for it. If you want to give it a little more time then yeah, okay, fine, but people can't wait around forever. I'm not trying to be a douche about it, sis, but… you snooze, you lose, you know?"

"I guess," Amber said reluctantly.

That was the end of the conversation. However, the thought followed her through the rest of the evening, occupying her mind while she cleaned her teeth and changed into her favourite pyjamas, and it was still bouncing around, back and forth, like the ball in a mental game of _Ultimate Pong_, as she climbed into bed.

She stared up at the ceiling, wondering whether she should pursue the promise of a possible relationship or end the whole thing before it even began and stay true to her beloved for the rest of her life. Of course that meant lifelong separation from the man she loved, and spending the rest of her life with only dreams and memories, which couldn't hold onto her the way she held onto them.

_Do I really want to spend the rest of my life alone? Jason's right, people don't always wait around forever. You snooze, you lose. Except Joseph's waiting around for me right now, waiting for me to join him on the other side. Might be a while, unless Umbrella get their way in the meantime. It could be a long time, though. Maybe a really, really long time._

Was she insulting Joseph's memory by wanting to be held and loved in the here and now, or would he understand? She'd promised she'd always love him. It might be a normal thing to go through, of course, but was it still a betrayal? Would Joseph want her to be happy, regardless of the consequences to himself? Or was she just using that as some kind of an excuse?

It was a troubling notion that would keep her awake long into the night.


	20. Newsflash

**20: Newsflash**

**Thursday 10th September, 1998**

That night Amber dreamed that Brad had kidnapped her and driven her out to Masefield Park, and that a very angry Joseph was chasing after the car on foot, shouting that she'd abandoned him. Wrapped up deep in the nightmare, she tossed and turned unknowingly for hours, unable to escape from that dark place in her subconscious.

She was only woken at first light by yelling from somewhere in the apartment. With a great deal of effort, she opened her eyes.

"Jase?" she mumbled.

She'd heard that voice a few moments ago, except it had been telling her that Brad was totally awesome and that she should marry him. Jason had been tied to the roof-rack of Brad's car for the entire duration of the dream, but, seemingly unconcerned by his plight, he'd spent the time playing his GameBoy and dispensing relationship advice from somewhere above her head.

Amber shook her head. She'd been having some weird dreams lately, but that one took first prize. Even the one with the Umbrella-branded vampire bats hadn't been that strange, or that vivid. She could almost smell the faux leather seats and the faint hint of spearmint gum from Brad's car.

It hadn't sounded like urgent yelling. It was more like the kind that she normally heard over the sound of the television, meaning that Jason had either completed a particularly difficult level - indicated by triumphant whoops of "YES! Take that, aliens! I _rule_ at this game!" - or, if the yelling sounded rather less happy, that the apparent indefatigability of robots, monsters, enemy soldiers and evil wizards was getting on his nerves.

Nevertheless, it was a good idea to investigate. In Jason's world, things like finding yourself ankle-deep in water after turning a tap too far the wrong way were little more than a mild inconvenience, and she didn't want to wait five minutes more only to find out that he'd spilled chocolate milk in the toaster, or that he'd tripped over something and taken her bookshelves down with him.

Amber wrapped her bathrobe around her and went through to the living room to find out what her brother had been shouting about. However, he was watching television and nothing appeared to be broken, flooded or on fire. She wondered what all the fuss had been about. Had she been dreaming the commotion, too?

"Hey," she said, sitting down on the couch next to him. "You're up early. You didn't spend all night playing video games again, did you?"

Jason shook his head.

"Nah, I just woke up and couldn't sleep any more. Did you hear about that guy?"

"Uh… guy?"

Jason raised his eyebrows.

"You mean you didn't hear already? Dude, it's all over the news! Some guy got attacked by birds last night! Check it out!"

He moved over a bit more and let Amber settle more comfortably into the cushions. Amber noticed, then, that the screen was occupied by the news channel rather than the race-tracks and haunted castles she'd become accustomed to seeing on her television. The anchorwoman - an attractive brunette in a blue suit - was talking about a distant foreign conflict and a soldier from Raccoon City who had been injured in a helicopter crash in the affected region.

"Are you sure?" she said. "This looks more like the international news."

"Yeah, you just missed it. You'll have to wait till it starts over again. She's almost done with the world news junk. Give it a few minutes and they'll go back to the headlines."

Amber watched as the woman calmly recited the latest entertainment and sports news. There was nothing much to report. Some Hollywood starlet had been caught with her nose in a pile of drugs in a Los Angeles nightclub, two days before the premiere of her new film, and the Rose Bay City Roses had soundly beaten the Evervale Gophers in yesterday's sports fixtures.

"_And now to Mindy McCabe with the weather."_

"_Hi, Jessica. Well, folks, we're in for another warm spell, with temperatures in the mid-seventies and humidity levels set to rise over the next couple of days. We're expecting grey skies and a few showers around lunchtime as this stretch of cloud makes its way across the Arklay Mountains towards Raccoon City, but with clearer skies to follow later. More sunshine tomorrow, with a little cloud cover in the eastern half of the state, and the fine, dry conditions look set to continue throughout the county over the weekend."_

"_Thanks, Mindy. If you're just joining us at home, welcome to Breakfast News. I'm Jessica Manfred. Today's top stories again…"_

There was a speech from Mayor Warren, which she didn't really hear because Jason was complaining loudly that this wasn't news and _everybody _knew there was bad traffic in Central City, and this was followed by a brief item about a missing person from Fairview.

Jason sat up.

"Okay, I remember this part! The bird attack dude should be next," he said.

Sure enough, he was right.

"_Following several unsubstantiated reports of animal attacks over the past few days, RNN has now obtained exclusive pictures of yesterday's bird attack on amateur photographer Eric Strattle. Mr Strattle, aged 39, was taking pictures of the City Hall for a new tourist brochure when the attack took place. Before his admission to hospital, the victim was able to capture images of the attack on film. This report contains images which some viewers may find distressing."_

Pictures flashed up on the screen. Birds, descending from the evening sky and the roof of City Hall; swooping towards the camera, shrieking silently; one bird apparently attacking the camera lens, all black feathers and wild eyes; a woman's horrified face in the corner of one shot, and the sky above thick with birds; one of the photographer's legs and torso, with birds pecking, clawing and tearing through his clothes; some small bird footprints in blood on the ground.

"_These shocking images have caused consternation amongst the residents of Coburg, where the attack took place, although people in the Fairview and Masefield Park areas have reported several similar incidents in the past week. Residents in areas affected by bird attacks have been advised to stay indoors where possible and to avoid consuming food outdoors or leaving garbage sacks outside, as wildlife experts have advised that birds in urban areas often associate people with food and this may be exacerbating the problem. The cause of the attacks, however, has yet to be identified."_

"Brutal," Jason commented, as the commentary switched to an interview with the victim in hospital.

Amber half-listened to the interview while she drank her juice, but she couldn't take her eyes off the scratches and gouges that covered the man's body. There were dozens of them, all over his hands, arms and face, and those were just the visible wounds. There could have been many more hidden beneath the blankets in the hospital bed. She suddenly remembered Jill saying that she'd found Forest Speyer's body slumped on a balcony at the mansion, covered by hundreds of little bites and scratches…

"Yeah," she said, after a moment. "That's pretty brutal all right."

"No kidding. And they're saying birds did that? Like crows and pigeons and stuff? That's insane."

"_Concerned citizens have raised the issue of rampaging birds with pest control companies, amid reports that dogs have also begun to attack humans without provocation in the Little Estonia city district. Police believe the rise in dog attacks may be linked to a recent incident involving intruders at a dog show at the Riverbrook Convention Centre on Tuesday. Three dogs were killed at the show in an apparently unwarranted attack and several more escaped during the incident. Police and city officials have advised the public to be on the lookout for stray dogs in the area but not to approach the animals, as some breeds may become aggressive if provoked."_

Amber shuddered. That sounded like another zombie attack to her. So they'd even started going for animals? She dreaded to think what would happen if a zombie victim found its way into one of the animal enclosures at the zoo. The last thing the city needed right now was zombie crocodiles and zebras roaming around.

"Ugh," she said. "You know what, I'm starting to think maybe Brad's right and we should get out of here."

"What about Mom and Dad?" said Jason. "We can't just leave them here. And you said you didn't want to leave your apartment."

Amber sighed.

"Yeah, I know. It's not like we have anywhere else to go anyway. I just have a really bad feeling about - "

"About what?"

She gave another, exasperated sigh.

"Hell, where do I start? I guess everything, right now. Getting fired, my creepy boss, being attacked by someone's undead pets, the whole city turning into one giant cemetery… you know what, I don't know any more. What with everything that's been going on lately, I don't even know where to begin explaining how worried I am. It's like everywhere I look, I can see trouble coming."

"You're a cop, Amb. You _always _see trouble coming."

"Jason!"

"Look, when you're done freaking out… if you figure out what's bothering you later then you can always call me and tell me what it is. Just try not to pet any zombie police dogs in the meantime, okay? You don't want your work following you home."

Unamused by this, Amber got up from the couch, leaving her brother to chuckle at his own joke.

"Funny. I'm going to go to work now."

"In your bathrobe?"

"_Obviously _I'm getting changed first, doofy."

"Yeah, right. You were totally going to forget and walk out the door like that. You're such a ditz."

"Ditz to you too, butt-for-brains."

"Big blonde double-ditz," he called after her, as she went back to change into her work clothes.

"Shut up, butthead!"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Rolling her eyes, she left him alone and went back into her room to change. Clean underwear first, then shirt, pants, socks, shoes, belt, badge, and watch. She checked her police kit, grabbed her keys and threw on a jacket.

There. Done.

Or at least she thought she was, until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw her hair, which was matted and sticking out at odd angles. Bed hair, she thought unhappily. Probably the only way to stop it from happening was to shave her head, which wasn't really much of an option.

"Damn it," she said aloud.

"What's up, sis?" she heard her brother call from the living room.

"Hair," she called back.

"Oh, okay. Good luck with that. You know you look like Einstein again today?"

"I do?"

"Yeah. Einstein with his finger stuck in an electrical outlet. Zzzzap!"

"Thanks for that…"

"Any time!"

Some wrangling later, Amber managed to get her hair into shape. She put the hairbrush back down on her dresser, checked her reflection one more time, and headed for the door.

"Don't forget to have breakfast," she told her brother, on her way out.

"Yeah, like _I'd _ever forget to eat."

"And ice-cream doesn't count."

"You're such a gaylord, you know that?"

She gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Love you lots."

"You too. Will you get more food? We're out of cereal, pizza, steak, pasta, cookies, potato chips, and pretty much everything except ice-cream."

"You are _not _having ice-cream for breakfast. We've still got bread, oatmeal and fruit, and a couple of eggs if you want an omelette. And there's some leftovers from last night if you want to have those for dinner tonight. I'm on double shifts today and I'm on the evening patrol roster too, so I won't be home till late."

Jason brightened.

"Leftover Sandwiches!"

Leftover Sandwiches were Jason's favourite snack. Made from bread and whatever Jason happened to find in the kitchen when his usual snack supplies ran out, they were a highly experimental and apparently random blend of tastes, textures and ingredients. Some of the recipes definitely weren't for the faint-hearted, or indeed anyone with taste buds, and even Jason, who ate _anything_, had pronounced one or two of his creations "really gross". Others, however, were deemed successful and favourite combinations were duly recorded in Jason's "Favourite Stuff" notebook, along with cheat codes, video game pre-order receipts and random lists and doodles. His most recent invention was the "Mexican Shock-Wave", which consisted of peanut butter, beef and jalapeñ os on brown bread, amongst other things. Jason had declared it delicious; Amber, who had a sense of smell, had avoided going near him for days.

"If you really have to," she said wearily.

"Sweet. But don't forget to get more food, okay?"

"I won't. And no ice-cream for breakfast. That's final."

"All right, I _won't_!"

Amber closed the front door behind her and went through the now-routine check that everything was suitably locked and bolted. This met with her satisfaction, so she went downstairs and outside to her car.

It was still there, exactly where she'd left it last night. The paintwork was covered in early-morning condensation, aside for a spot on the car's hood where a passer-by had drawn their initials in the moisture. Graffiti on top of graffiti… although Joseph wouldn't have been so mad about some kid finger-painting in dew. She wiped it away and got into the car.

Joseph was on her mind again, now that she'd been reminded of his reaction to the multi-coloured vandalism on his car. He was never really far from her thoughts, but his memory was making itself felt more than usual today.

She wished he was here. Everything would seem so much simpler if she could just talk to him on their way to work. He'd suggest solutions, and reassure her that everything was all right, because he wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. And then everything would be fine again.

But he wasn't here. Bad things were happening to her, and he wasn't here. Her heart ached from missing him but, oddly, she was starting to feel angry about the fact that he wasn't there. How could he die and leave her to deal with the aftermath of what he and his friends had uncovered at the mansion? Why wasn't he here, like he was supposed to be?

"This is all your fault, Joe," she said hotly, to the empty car. "You were supposed to protect me from all this! Why aren't you here when I need you?"

There should have been a voice from the sky, or some parting of clouds to assure her that he was watching over her from above. There should have been Joseph's ghost sitting in the passenger seat, looking sorrowfully at her and trying to hold her hand so he could give it a reassuring squeeze, the way he always used to. If nothing else, it should have started to rain outside, to deepen the sense of the world being a more miserable place for Joseph Frost's unjust absence.

There shouldn't have been nothing but silence.

"Bastard," she said fiercely, wiping the welling tears from her eyes. "I should hate you for not being here. I should!"

Amber turned the key in the ignition and heard the engine grumble into life.

"I don't, though," she added quietly, looking down at the footwell. "I'm sorry, Joe. It's not your fault. I just wish you were still around to help me. I feel so lost."

She turned on the radio and drove away. As she made her way through the familiar streets, she switched stations. She wasn't in the mood for Rock 303 today. She turned the dial, catching a few seconds each of Spanish-language advertisements, Seventies disco, jazz and classical music, and eventually found the local talk radio station, R-Chat. She'd been hoping for a traffic report but at the moment the host was talking indignantly about last night's bird attack.

"…_so, what, we're not even safe from birds any more? When is City Hall going to deal with the pest problem in this city? Escaped dogs running wild in the streets, birds attacking people… what next? Is Oscar the elephant gonna go nuts and bust out of the zoo? Are all the monkeys going to go ape? On that subject, here's our first caller - you're on the air!"_

"_Hi, my name's Paul Cooper. I'd like to know why all these animals are going crazy all of a sudden. People, too, lately. What's up with people these days? You hear about that dog show the other day? What was that all about?"_

"_I sure did, Paul. Unfortunately, I'm none the wiser."_

"_I think the people of this city deserve an explanation. Don't we have enough scientists working in town? Why can't those guys at Umbrella work out what's happening? If it's some kind of illness that's driving people wild all of a sudden, how come they can't make some kind of drug to help cure it?"_

"Because they started it, you idiot," Amber muttered, turning the corner onto Main Street. She was almost in Central City now and she could already see a big traffic jam up ahead. She slowed, gradually, to a halt behind the queue of stopped traffic.

"_That's a good point, Paul. Right behind you on that one. Anyone else out there think Umbrella should be doing more to help? Next caller…"_

"… _hi, I'm Lorraine Jewell and I'm from Fairview. I want to know what the police propose to do about catching those cannibal killers! They've been at large for months now and we haven't heard a gosh-darned thing! Why doesn't Chief Irons get off of his big butt and investigate, like he's supposed to, instead of letting his boys in blue sit around eating doughnuts all day? We pay their wages and what do they do? Nothing!"_

"Well it's not like I haven't tried!" Amber found herself shouting at the radio, but then she became aware that the guy in the car alongside hers was staring at her. Slightly flustered by this embarrassment, she reached over and turned the radio over to the pop music station.

_Great, now I look like one of those people who argue with the TV. I really need to get a life. Preferably one without zombies in it…_

Everyone at the precinct looked tired today, thought Amber. The secretaries at the front desk were chirpy enough, and so was Gus, the janitor, but once you got past the main hall, you started seeing the signs of fatigue on people's faces.

Things had been difficult in the last couple of days. The number of incidents involving animal attacks and suspected "cannibal killer" sightings was growing, slowly but steadily, and on top of this, there had been a sudden sharp rise in reports of assaults, road rage and domestic violence. All this meant more call-outs than usual, and because there were only so many officers available to respond, the Chief had started asking people to increase the number of overtime hours they put in. This, however, had a limited effect. Despite their best efforts, the thin blue line was still stretched too thin and too far, and people were staying hours later than they were supposed to, trying to stem the flow of incident reports and keep things under control.

"So what's the next step?" Amber asked Kevin, as they set out for the early evening patrol.

"Unpaid overtime and cancelled leave," Kevin grumbled. "I overheard George and Marv talking about it the other day. If this keeps up then the Chief'll have to start hiring again. We don't have enough feet on the street. Everybody's working double shifts."

"Where will we put the extra staff?" said Amber. "We don't have enough desks and lockers as it is."

"Chief's problem," grunted Kevin. "Sure as hell isn't mine."

They walked through the open gates of the precinct and started heading north-east, towards Brentford. It was approaching dusk. The sky above was a soft lilac and the distant hum of the city seemed to be all around them.

Three blocks later, Kevin's mood had improved a little. The scowl on his face was fading away and as they prepared to cross the street to the next block, he broke the silence.

"So, you doing anything interesting tonight?"

"No, not really," said Amber. "Going to pick some groceries up on the way home. Might watch some TV later, if I can get Jason away from it for long enough."

Kevin smiled.

"Heard there's a good movie on tonight. Didn't catch the name, though. It's one of those teen slasher movies they keep bringing out. Looked pretty scary."

"Let me guess, there's a cursed serial killer on campus and he's picking off topless cheerleaders," said Amber. "Probably called something like _Die School Prom_, or _My Roomie Killed Me_. The boobs-to-murder ratio will be fairly even, with at least one blonde girl being hacked to death in the shower, and I'll bet five bucks that the quarterback gets killed halfway through the movie, leaving two or three geeky misfits and the only surviving popular kid to track down the killer. Am I right?"

Kevin laughed out loud.

"Close enough," he said. "How'd you guess?"

"Pretty standard format for those things. Jason'll love it. He's always staying up late watching trashy teen movies. I swear, he'll sit through hours of fake blood and screaming teenagers for a five-second glimpse of some bimbo in a bikini."

"Good kid. Persistence pays off. How's he doing, anyway?"

"Yeah, he's holding up pretty well. Started back at college on Monday."

"Tell him I asked after him, won't you?"

"Sure will."

That was it for a while, and they continued walking, surrounded by the smell and sound of the city. It was some time, when they were almost in the heart of Brentford, until Amber picked up the thread of their conversation again.

"Quiet out tonight."

"Yeah, real quiet. I guess everyone's decided to stay home and keep out of trouble. And you know what, that suits me just fine."

"Same here. I'll be glad to get home. You got anything planned for later?"

"Uh-huh. Soon as I get off work, I'll go home and tape the movie, then I'm gonna meet up with Bob and Marv at J's. You know, grab a few beers, watch the game… that's if I can bear to watch. The Sharks have been getting their asses kicked lately."

"Tim not coming?"

"Nah, he said he had family stuff to take care of. Probably some old rich dude's charity gig. He's been no fun lately."

"Oh, Kevin, come on. He just lost his grandpa and he's got a lot of stuff to take care of. And even if it is some high-roller event, I'll bet my next paycheck he isn't having any fun. He'd much rather be hanging out with you guys."

"My ass he would."

"You don't mean that," said Amber. "Tim hates all that stuff and you know it. All those stupid parties and champagne and small talk only gets on his nerves. He says it's just the same thing over and over."

"Gee, the poor guy," said Kevin sarcastically. "I don't know how he manages to live like that."

"Oh, Kevin, get your head out of your butt already, will you?" Amber sighed. "It's not his fault he got stuck with an inheritance. If you're really that jealous, you could always ask him to switch places with you. Hell, if he doesn't jump at the chance to be ordinary, then I'm Medusa the Gorgon."

"Well, your hair does look a bit - "

"Enough with the hair already," snapped Amber. "It's _not _funny. This morning my brother told me I looked like Einstein being electrocuted, so I combed it again when I got to work, but then it turned into… well, Rita said it looks kind of like an Eighties perm, but I think it looks more like a mushroom cloud."

"Hairoshima," Kevin supplied.

Amber glared at him.

"That is so not funny, it's unbelievable."

Kevin pretended to listen closely to the side of her head.

"Hey, I think I just heard the three-minute warning…"

"Oh, I'll give you a three-minute warning all right," warned Amber. "One more crack about my hair and you're going home tonight with your - "

"_All units, calling all units," _crackled the radios at their sides.

Kevin picked up the radio.

"Ryman here. What's up?"

"_Just got a 911 call from South Winterton. A Mrs Judith Ratchet called to say her twin girls haven't made it home from school. Said they were supposed to be visiting a friend before they went home, but she called the other kid's mom and apparently they never made it there."_

"Sure they didn't just stop off somewhere along the way?"

"_Doesn't sound like it. She says they keep a pretty regular routine and they've never been home this late before. Sounds like something's up."_

"Got a description?"

"_Names are Hilary and Jessica Ratchet. Identical twins, aged nine, slim build, braided red hair, about four feet eight inches tall. Mom says they're both wearing pink-and-yellow dresses and green backpacks."_

"All right, we'll check it out. Thanks."

Kevin replaced the radio.

"Shit," he said. "I hate missing kids. I really hope they just took the long way home from school."

Amber's heart was sinking. She could see the flyer on the police bulletin board already; the plaintive words, begging for information, while the ink in the pictures slowly faded away to shades of blue and white. More than anything, she feared reports like these, because she'd seen how easy it was for children to turn into statistics. And she hated the cold, terrible knowledge of the statistics. They had twenty-four hours to find those missing kids safe and well, forty-eight at a real stretch. After that, the odds weren't on their side.

She wanted to say that she was worried something bad had happened, but she saw the look of dread in Kevin's eyes and decided to keep quiet. He was clearly thinking along the same lines.

"Come on," he said suddenly. "They might still be around here somewhere. The school isn't that far from here…"

They started to run, in the direction of the school. Raccoon City Elementary School was a couple of blocks west of their location, about fifteen minutes away at normal walking speed, but at a dead run it took them just under ten minutes to get there.

The school gates were locked when they arrived, and the building sheltering behind the tall brick walls was dark and deserted.

Kevin went up to the gates and peered through the bars.

"Looks like they've shut up for the night," he said. "Someone should call the principal, get them to check the school buildings. Perhaps they got locked in or something. Hah, remember that time I fell asleep in the guys' locker room after football practice and the janitor didn't notice I was there? If I hadn't climbed out through the kindergarten window, I would have been there all weekend. My mom was so mad when I got home. She said she was about to call the police because she thought I'd… been…"

He trailed off, and turned to look back at her.

"Maybe we should - "

But just then, he spotted another pair of officers across the street. They were hurrying towards the school and looked slightly out of breath.

"Hey!" one of them shouted out. "Got the call about the missing kids! We just came here from Winterton! Any sign of them?"

Kevin and Amber shook their heads.

"Crap," said the other. "We already checked out the friend's house and the surrounding area. No sign of them. Where do you think they could be?"

Amber tried not to think about where they could be right now. She hadn't been involved with any abduction cases before, and didn't know many officers who had, but stories filtered back to her and the others sometimes. They were the kind of stories that kept her staring at her bedroom ceiling, late at night, wondering what the hell was wrong with humanity.

"Come on," said the first officer, trying to sound upbeat. "They can't have gone far. Let's spread out and keep looking."

"All right. You two go that way, Amber and I'll take this way."

"Okay. Keep us posted."

They parted ways, splitting up in opposite directions. Amber followed Kevin as fast as she could, striving to keep up and looking around, constantly, hoping to spot two little girls with red hair and green backpacks somewhere in the background, alive and unharmed.

_Please be safe, girls, wherever you are… please, please be all right._

She soon realised that they'd looped right around and were heading straight back into Coburg. It wasn't the worst neighbourhood in the world, but there were lots of dark alleys and strange people around. It wasn't a good place to be lost at night, even for grown-ups.

The feeling that something was profoundly wrong was making itself felt even more now; a kind of prickling cold, creeping through her heart and veins and up her spine.

They were almost at City Hall when they heard barking dogs and shouting. She and Kevin looked at each other silently. It didn't sound like good shouting. Without saying a word, they picked up the pace and ran, as fast as they could, through the main gates and down the alley which led past the courtyard.

Bob and Tim were standing at a spot further down the path, near the planters. Kevin, who was ahead of her, froze when he saw them and the looks on their faces. He turned around abruptly, trying to block her view of the rest of the alley.

"Amber, no! Don't," he warned her. "Go back outside, okay?"

He was too late; Amber had already pushed past him and through into the main section of the alley, opening her mouth to say that she'd seen unpleasant crime scenes before and she could cope with whatever had happened.

But then she saw the two little bodies, and the blood that was spattered everywhere. She cried out, reeling back into the brick wall and trying to hide her eyes.

"Oh God!"

Tim was crouched down on the floor near the bodies, talking into his radio. The look on his face was the grimmest she'd ever seen.

"… ambulance on its way," he was saying. "Already too late though. You'd better call the coroner's office and let them know. Do we have any contact details for the parents?"

A couple of feet away from him, Bob was leaning against the wall. The young police officer was sobbing loudly, tears rolling down his cheeks one after the other. She realised that it was probably the first homicide he'd ever seen; he'd started at the precinct sometime in May, when violent murders were still rare occurences and found mostly in crime-ridden Masefield Park. Before that, he'd been fresh out of the academy and working at the sheriff's office in Maple Heights, the sleepy mountain community where he'd grown up. The only remotely nasty thing he'd seen before now had been the scene of the trolley incident on Main Street.

"Damn it!" Kevin yelled, and punched out at the nearest wall. "Too late! We ran all this way and we were still too _late_! _Son of a bitch!_"

"Those poor little girls," said Bob, through his tears. He was still shaking. "What kind of sick bastard would do something like this?"

Tim looked up.

"The same kind of bastard who attacks in a group and leaves bite-marks all over his victims," he said, quietly enough so that only Amber, who was nearest to him, could hear.

She understood.

"Cannibals," she said aloud. "It's those cannibal killers. They must have found these girls and - "

She tried not to look at the blood-stained backpack lying next to her feet.

"I don't understand," said Kevin. "This happened right outside City Hall! There are shops and apartments all over this part of town! The press office is right around the corner! How come nobody heard anything? How come nobody tried to help them?"

"We tried," said Bob, sniffling. "We got here about two minutes ago. We tried to help them when we found them but they were already - "

"Did you see anybody?" Kevin interrupted.

Bob shook his head.

"No," he said. He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "We checked the surrounding alleys but there was no sign of anyone. Whoever did this took off before we got here, and I can think of at least three different ways they could have gone. Damn it, they could be on the other side of the city by now…"

Privately, Amber doubted this. Zombies could lurch sharply, and without much warning, but their shuffling, unsteady walk didn't lend itself well to rapid movement. Depending on when the attack took place, however, they might well have wandered off after biting lumps out of the unfortunate twins and could by now be several streets, perhaps even a whole neighbourhood away. She'd patrolled the city often enough to know that even the slowest walkers could cover a moderate distance in the space of an hour.

"Any K-9 units in the area?" she said.

"Yeah, Finn and his guys went ahead of us with Duke and Boris," said Tim. "We got here just after they did. Dogs sniffed around for a minute, then they picked up a scent and headed off towards the gas station. Finn said he wanted to see if he could track down the perp, so he took Silverman and one of the dogs over in that direction and told us to stay here. The others headed towards the trolley station to see if they might have gone that way."

Sure enough, Amber could hear the distant barking of the police dogs. She wondered what would happen when the dogs followed the pungent smell of blood and rotting flesh and dragged their handlers straight towards a group of zombies. What then? Would they try to arrest the perpetrators of this horrific crime? How did you go about arresting a zombie? You couldn't put it on trial, and if you locked up something shaped like a human being without a trial, then you'd have to start explaining why…

It would make for an interesting way to break the news that zombies were real. More likely, though, that the zombies would "assault" the foolhardy police officer who tried to detain them, which would result in either a dead police officer or dead zombies. And dead zombies dissolved, as she'd seen, into dust, leaving no other proof that they existed. No killers, no evidence, and no justice.

She cursed under her breath.

"So what do we do now?" said Bob.

Kevin looked down at the floor.

"Follow procedure," he said flatly. "All we can do now is follow procedure."

"Following procedure" meant a lot of waiting, followed by a discussion with a detective from Homicide and then a great deal of paperwork. It also meant that Amber didn't get home until close to midnight.

"Dude, what the hell?" Jason complained, as she staggered in through the door and dumped several bags of groceries on the carpet. "You were supposed to be home hours ago! There's no food here! I thought I was going to starve to death!"

"Is food all you ever think about?" Amber retorted. "Look, I told you I'd be home late, and I got the stupid groceries like you asked me. Help yourself to whatever it is you want and put the rest away. I'm going to bed."

Jason frowned. He got up from the couch and followed her through into the kitchen.

"Hey, sis, is everything okay? Something bad happen at work?"

"Behold the master of the understatement," Amber said under her breath, then, out loud:

"Yes, something bad happened. If you must know, then I'll tell you in the morning, but right now I just want to sleep."

"Are you okay, though?" he said, grabbing her shoulder. "You're not hurt, right?"

She placed her hand atop his fingers, then removed his hand from her shoulder.

"I'm all right. Two other people weren't so lucky."

"Huh?"

This time Amber turned to face him.

"Jason, I'm not going to go into details because I don't want to and I'm not allowed anyway. Essentially, I got called out on a missing person hunt and ended up at a double homicide scene. End of statement. Now will you _please_ let me get ready for bed?"

"All right, fine. You know you missed a good movie earlier?"

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it was called _The Freshman_ and there were these cheerleaders who did a séance, and they brought back this dead student who killed all his classmates and put a curse on the high school when he got shot by the police, and then they have to break the curse because he's come back to life and started killing them, and the main character was this chick with _enormous _boobs whose boyfriend gets killed with a hockey - "

"_Goodnight_, Jason."

"Uh, okay then. Night. I'll tell you the rest in the morning."

Amber closed the bedroom door behind her, leaving Jason to wander back into the living room. She leaned against the door, and shut her eyes tight.

She wasn't sure why she'd wanted to retire to her room and be alone. Darkness, silence and solitude were the last things she needed, because they'd give her time to think. She didn't want to think. She'd lie awake for hours now, thinking about what she'd seen, tormenting herself by wondering what would have happened if only she and Kevin had run faster, or taken a different route.

And yet she couldn't persuade herself to sit up with Jason all night and listen to him jabber about fictional serial killers and how he'd got to Level 20 on _Indiscriminate Justice III,_ when all she could think about was that blood-spattered alley. She couldn't try to smile and chat, and pretend everything was okay, while the inside of her head was filled with violent death and the horrible, gut-turning awareness that while she was making small talk, one of her co-workers was trying to find some way to tell those two anxious, waiting parents that their daughters were dead. There were some things that no amount of cheerful distraction could shake out of your head.

This was the part of her job she really hated. Trying to live a normal, happy life alongside one that was full of crime, peril and occasional moments of unspeakable horror, and attempting to reconcile the two while preventing them from ever actually meeting. Normally it was something she could handle without too much effort. Right now, she felt like hiding her head under the covers and never, ever coming back out.

Amber sat down on the corner of her bed and stared at the wall for a few minutes, then got up and went into the bathroom. She let her thoughts freewheel as she brushed her teeth.

By the time she put down her toothbrush and spat into the basin, she was wondering what to make for breakfast tomorrow and what to do on the weekend, as she wasn't working this Saturday. Perhaps she could take Jason to the movies, or out to lunch somewhere… or maybe a baseball game. Were there any fixtures at the ball park this weekend?

She'd almost forced out the memory of what happened by the time she'd undressed and climbed into bed. But then she turned over, saw the empty pillow where Joseph's head should have been resting, and thought about the people who'd died just lately.

Joseph Frost. Forest Speyer, Kenneth Sullivan, Edward Dewey, Kevin Dooley, Richard Aiken, Enrico Marini. Wesker too, damn him, although he wouldn't be missed. Bethany Rove. Josef and Susan Leidermann. Hilary and Jessica Ratchet.

All around her, people just seemed to keep dying. The only person she knew who'd died peacefully in recent months was Jeff Lonsdale, and even she'd worried for a moment that he might come back and start eating the mourners at his funeral.

How many more would die before she reached the end of her struggle?

She rolled back onto her back and stared at the ceiling, watching shadows and patches of light move across the plaster as traffic passed in the street below.

_How many more…?_

**Friday 11th September, 1998**

"Bernstein!"

Amber rubbed her eyes and looked up from the papers on her desk. The Chief was standing a few feet away, pudgy arms akimbo.

"Yes, Chief?" she said.

"Press conference. Ten minutes."

Amber blinked.

"Sir? I thought I wasn't involved in the press conference?"

"Kerr's off," the Chief said gruffly. "He started to cry when I told him he had to read out a statement about the crime scene. I can't have one of my officers crying on camera."

"Chief, my last run-in with the media resulted in disciplinary action and you said yourself that I damaged the force's reputation," Amber reminded him, in as pointed a manner as she dared. "Personal feelings aside, I don't think it's appropriate for me to get involved with the media again."

"Well, that's just too bad," Irons replied. "Ryman's on patrol with Officer McGraw in Fairview right now and Lonsdale already said no. Since you were the only other officer on-scene, you're going to have to take his place."

Amber was stunned. Was this some kind of trick, or were their resources really so stretched that the Chief had to take a chance on her, even though he knew full well she might blurt out something embarrassing in front of the press? He must have been aware of the risk he was taking. She wondered what he was playing at.

"What about Officer Morris?" she said. "Maybe he - "

"Officer Morris is working with the K-9 unit on another case. And even if he wasn't, he's better at handling dogs than reporters."

"But - "

"A statement's already been prepared for you, based on the facts set out in your report. All you have to do is read it out. Try not to answer too many questions or say anything that'll make us look bad. You're on in ten minutes. _No _arguments."

Amber stared helplessly after him as he strode out.

"But I've never done a press conference before," she said out loud, to the rest of the room. "What are you supposed to do? Don't we have an official police spokesperson for this stuff?"

"Had," corrected Marvin, from the side office. "She left a couple of months ago. Personal reasons."

"She was a real piece of work," said Rita. "Kept making personal calls and taking all the copy paper from under the stairs."

"Yeah, and she was always late," grumbled someone else.

"Totally unprofessional," pitched in Elliot Edward.

"Hated reporters," Carlsen added. "Couldn't stand 'em."

"And she never made coffee for anybody."

"She only ever repeated other people's statements anyway. She didn't actually do anything."

"And she always stole the last parking space."

"Yeah. Bitch."

Amber sat back in her chair.

"Great," she said. "So, you guys have any advice?"

There was a general shrugging of shoulders.

"Try not to say anything stupid?" someone suggested.

"Maybe you should do what the Mayor does and answer questions with another question."

"No, no, that won't work, she's got to answer properly…"

"Just read what's on the statement, Amber," said Rita encouragingly. "You can't go too far wrong there. If you can't answer the question, say you aren't able to give them an answer at this time and the investigation is continuing. And if they ask you anything that'll get you in real hot water, just say "no comment" like people do on TV. Should work."

"Nice one, Rita," said Elliot. "Maybe you should be the new PIO."

"Oh, I don't want to do all that media stuff," said Rita, blushing. "I don't like the attention. I'd be too scared to go on TV in front of all those people!"

Marvin looked at his watch.

"Well, you'd better go," he said. "Good luck, Amber."

"Break a leg!" said someone cheerfully.

"And try not to cuss at the reporters, it just makes them worse…"

As advice went, she'd received better, but Amber smiled anyway and went out of the room. There was a fluttering of nerves somewhere around her stomach and the tension in her chest started to grow as she crossed the foyer, into the east wing.

Chief Irons and a female detective were waiting outside the room when she got there. Amber recognised the blonde woman, but only vaguely. She'd arrived at the precinct a few months ago and Amber occasionally saw her upstairs, but they'd never really crossed paths.

"There you are," the detective greeted her. "Just in time. Everyone's ready to start. You okay?"

Amber shook her head.

"Oh, don't be nervous," said the blonde woman cheerfully. "I used to do press conferences all the time with my last force. Nothing to worry about. Just stick to the statement you've been given and if you don't know the answer, don't try and get creative, just tell them you don't have that information. If they ask you anything dicey, say "no comment". Should be plain sailing. Ready?"

Amber smiled. Rita's advice had been pretty close to the mark. The last press conference she'd seen had looked intimidating from where she'd been standing, but perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

"Detective Buck, by the way. Don't think we've met before. You're Amber Bernstein, right?"

Amber nodded, wondering how she knew.

"Thought so. I heard all about you from Kevin. He said he's an old friend of yours."

"Yeah, we go way back," said Amber, relieved. Everybody seemed to know Kevin. "He was a couple of grades above me at school and we lived in the same neighbourhood, so we pretty much grew up together."

Detective Buck nodded, and patted her short blonde bob.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. Does my hair look okay, by the way? Sorry, that sounds vain, but I can't seem to get it to sit right this morning. Normally I wouldn't care so much, but if we're in front of the press then I probably shouldn't look like I just rolled out of bed."

"But that makes it look more urgent," Amber pointed out. "People will think you got here in a hurry and you've been working too hard to care about your hair."

The detective laughed.

"Hey, I like your thinking! Thanks. If anyone asks, I'll tell them what you said."

"It's all right, really. It looks fine. How about mine?"

Buck just grinned.

"Ah, I've seen worse," she said. "Don't worry about it."

There was a stir of conversation from the other side of the door. It sounded as though the waiting reporters were getting restless.

"Oh, man, would you listen to them complaining in there?" said Buck, looking exasperated. "This town has the most impatient press I've ever met. Keep 'em waiting five minutes and it's the end of the world as we know it. Come on, we'd better go in before they start eating each other."

Amber shuddered.

"Detective, I think that comment was rather ill-advised, given the circumstances," said the Chief, pursing his lips tightly. "This is a very sensitive case and I hope you'll deal with the matter more tactfully in front of the press."

"Sorry, Chief."

"Yes - well. In we go."

They entered the room, and Amber felt her heart suspend mid-beat as she passed the rows of chairs and saw the hungry, waiting faces of the press. Now she understood why Detective Peyton had looked so ill at ease. She'd heard of people who could take the words out of your mouth, but those stares were enough to suck up all the words you were trying to assemble in your head before speaking. Listening to people was supposed to put them at their ease, but reporters were very good listeners, and yet they rarely had that effect on their subjects - on the contrary, they seemed to have a knack for making people uncomfortable with their own words.

They took their seats behind the desk. Chief Irons, unusually, didn't sit in the centre, instead taking the camera-left seat. Detective Buck took the seat in the middle, and Amber, grateful that she wouldn't have to sit next to the Chief, took the seat on the detective's right.

Someone counted down softly, somewhere off to the left of the room, and the detective cleared her throat.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," she began. "My name is Detective Vivienne Buck. I'm in charge of this investigation and have been asked by Chief Irons of the Raccoon Police Department, who's sitting here on my left, to brief you on the details of this incident."

Her voice was so calm and clear, as she went through the details. Amber could only marvel at her composure. She wondered if the woman had been this unruffled by the crime scene itself, or the mutilated bodies of the two young victims. She still couldn't understand how people like Ruth and Vivienne could see such horror on a daily basis and still behave so normally. Perhaps what they saw did upset them, but only in private, and they were good at hiding their emotions away in the meantime. It still seemed incredible to her that they could do that, when grown men like Bob wept, but it was far more likely than the idea of them not being affected at all. You had to be some kind of monster if you looked at the bodies of two murdered children and felt nothing at all, not even a drop of sorrow or pity.

"The victims, Hilary and Jessica Ratchet, aged nine, were found in an alleyway near City Hall by officers from our K-9 unit and two patrolling officers, Officers Lonsdale and Kerr. An ambulance was immediately requested but sadly both victims were pronounced dead. The apparent cause of their deaths was severe trauma and loss of blood due to the massive injuries sustained during the attack. Saliva samples and marks corresponding to human tooth-marks were found on the victims' bodies, mostly on the neck and torso. This evidence is currently being analysed by our Forensics department and we hope that this may provide some clues as to the identity of the attacker."

A buzz went through the assembled reporters, and a couple of them started taking photographs. The flashes lit up the room in brilliant, blinding white, and Amber had to close her eyes to avoid being dazzled by the cameras.

"Although the investigation is still in its early stages, we suspect that this may be related to a similar incident earlier this week," continued Buck. "There are currently no known witnesses to this terrible crime, but we are continuing our enquiries and anyone who may have further information regarding this incident is urged to contact the precinct on our confidential 24-hour hotline."

On and on it continued, with reporters occasionally jumping up to try and put in a question, but Detective Buck didn't seem bothered by the interruptions and answered each one with ease. Amber leaned back a little and saw that Chief Irons was smiling a little; he appeared to be pleased with her progress so far.

A moment later Buck gestured towards Amber.

"Officer Bernstein was also present at the crime scene and would like to read a brief statement about what she saw."

_No she wouldn't_, thought Amber nervously, _she'd like to go home and hide behind the couch until it all goes away_, but she stood up anyway, picked up the paper from the desk in front of her and started to read out the words on the page.

"My name is Officer Amber Bernstein. At approximately 7.24 p.m. on Thursday September 10th, I was on patrol in Brentford with my colleague, Officer Kevin Ryman. It was at this time that we received a radio transmission informing us of the disappearance of the victims, Hilary and Jessica Ratchet, who had failed to return home after school. Officer Ryman and I immediately proceeded to Raccoon City Elementary, where the victims had last been seen, but arrived to find the school closed up for the night. There was nobody in sight."

Her throat was dry and she could feel her palms starting to sweat. She wished she had some water to sip, so she could regain her full voice; it sounded weak and distant, as though it was coming from some throat other than hers.

"Shortly after this," she continued, "we were approached by Officers Knox and Marchand, who had also been dispatched to search for the missing girls and had arrived following a search of the area surrounding the house of the victims' friend, who had advised Officers Knox and Marchand that the girls had not in fact visited the property as scheduled. We agreed to split up and continue our search."

She wiped one sweating palm on the hem of her shirt, hoping that nobody would notice. She felt too hot under the lights, and embarrassed at her faltering voice. She was sure that the reporters were staring directly at her, scrutinising her every move as they scribbled away in their notepads.

"Officer Ryman and I thereafter proceeded towards the Coburg area and when we reached City Hall, we were advised that there were K-9 units in the area. We also heard shouting and commotion from the City Hall area and upon arriving in an alleyway outside the municipal building, we came across the crime scene. Officers Kerr and Lonsdale were already present and had arrived at the scene with a K-9 unit. The K-9 unit were pursuing scents from the crime scene in the directions of the Stagla gas station and the Coburg trolley station and were therefore not present at that time."

She paused for breath.

"At the time of our arrival Officer Lonsdale was requesting an ambulance for the victims, who were found face-down in the alleyway with injuries corresponding to those described in Detective Buck's statement. I understand that the victims were pronounced dead soon afterwards and that Officer Lonsdale had already stated at this point that both victims had in fact been dead prior to their discovery. Back-up was called for and the Forensics team arrived to cordon off the area and search for evidence approximately ten minutes later. Officer Ryman and I returned to the station at this point in accordance with standard procedure in order to complete the relevant paperwork. The case was then passed to Detective Buck for her sole conduct."

She coughed, and wiped her hands again. She was growing quietly desperate to run away and hide from the heat, cameras and those penetrating stares, but her only way out of the room was to get this conference over with. She closed her eyes tightly, with the final paragraph floating in her mind, and pressed on through her discomfort.

"I would like to conclude my statement by expressing my condolences to the victims' family and by reassuring both their family and the general public that we are making every effort to track down the perpetrator of this vicious and unprovoked attack so that they can be brought to justice. Thank you."

She'd never been so grateful to sit down in her whole life. As soon as she did, though, the questions began.

"Sheldon Bright, _Raccoon Enquirer_! The public are deeply concerned about the recent spate of cannibal-style attacks on innocent people. How would you gauge the overall risk to the general public?"

"Unfortunately I'm unable to comment as these investigations are still ongoing," Amber found herself saying. "I would, however, advise the general public to remain vigilant and to report any suspicious behaviour to the police."

Two women towards the front started trying to push each other back into their seats, so that neither could stand up and ask questions. Amber recognised the first woman, a blonde in a smartly-cut trouser suit, from the Leidermann press conference. After a brief struggle, the second woman - a young, pretty brunette in a blouse and pencil skirt - shoved the other aside and managed to jump to her feet, calling out:

"Donna Rothes, _Raccoon Times_! This appears to be the latest in a long line of cannibalistic attacks, which our appalled readers have dubbed the "Hannibal Lecter" murders. Are we definitely dealing with cannibalism here? Are the same individuals to blame for this incident?"

"It's hard to say at this stage," said Detective Buck, cutting in, to Amber's profound relief. "As I stated earlier, we suspect that this may be linked to a similar case earlier this week but we're still making enquiries. We do not yet have any suspects in relation to this incident and we're still analysing the DNA evidence collected from the crime scene. It may be some time until we have these results and we're anxious to hear from anyone who may have witnessed the crime so that we can progress this case. Witness testimony could be crucial."

"Alyssa Ashcroft, _Raccoon Times_!" burst out the blonde woman, scrambling to her feet, as her smirking rival took her seat. "I understand that the victims have been identified by their next of kin. What do their family have to say about this incident? Are they likely to make any appeal for information?"

"Mr and Mrs Ratchet are currently unavailable for comment," said Amber curtly. "They're understandably very distressed in light of this incident and they've asked for the media to respect their privacy at this difficult time. Our Victim Liaison department are currently supporting the Ratchet family and have encouraged them to make an appeal for information whenever they feel ready to do so."

_And that told you, vulture,_ she thought, as the blonde woman pouted and sat back down in her seat. _How can you make a story out of someone else's grief like that? Why not just pick the last bit of meat off the kids' bones while you're at it?_

There were a couple of simpler questions, about pieces of evidence, the increased frequencies of patrols city-wide, and how long the area would remain closed to the public. Detective Buck dealt with these briskly, then, as some of the more strident reporters started getting restless and looked about to ask more questions, said:

"No more questions. Thank you for your attendance, ladies and gentlemen. Should you have any further queries regarding this incident or require further clarification on any details divulged in this press conference, please contact the police department through the usual channels. I wish you all a safe journey home."

And that, remarkably, was it. The reporters and photographers filed out in twos and threes, all chattering together about what they'd just heard. Only the one who'd identified herself as Donna Rothes lingered in the doorway, her eyes fixed firmly on Amber.

"Excuse me, officer, but do I know you from somewhere?" she said pleasantly, as Amber tried to get past her. "Only you look kind of familiar…"

Amber's blood ran cold. Oh, no. Had this woman recognised her from the scene of Bethany Rove's death, or the picture the _Times _had run alongside the story the following day?

"No, I don't believe so," she said cautiously. "I seem to recall your name from somewhere, though. Rothes, Rothes… oh, that's right. You have a sister, don't you?"

The reporter nodded.

"That's right. Her name's Bettany. Works in the post room back at my office. Why do you ask?"

"Friend of a friend," Amber lied. "She and my cousin were in the same class at school. I think I met her a couple of times. How is she, anyway? It's been a while."

Miss Rothes smiled.

"She's fine, thanks for asking. I'll pass on my best wishes."

The tinny sound of a cellphone came from the inside of her jacket.

"Must be my editor," she said, with a little grimace. "Sorry. I'd better run. I don't want that bitch Ashcroft to get the scoop on this one. She always steals my best stories…"

She hurried away.

"Well done, kiddo," said Detective Buck, patting her on the back. "I'm impressed. Was this your first press conference?"

Amber nodded. Her heart was still racing. Thank goodness the reporter hadn't recognised her. If anyone from the press had got wind of the fact that she was the same officer who'd caused the media storm over the trolley incident…

"Well, congratulations," said Buck, beaming. "You handled it a lot better than I did my first time. On my first I knocked my water glass over onto a power strip and managed to short out all the studio lights. Nearly electrocuted Chief Henshaw in the process, too. Definitely not a good start."

Amber tried not to smile.

"It's okay, it was pretty funny. Apart from nearly electrocuting my boss, that is," Detective Buck added hastily, as Chief Irons passed them, but once he'd left the room she whispered, "Actually, I think maybe that was the best part. He was the reason I left the force."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he used to drink on the job. He made everybody's lives miserable and in the end I got sick of covering for him and making excuses. Coming here was the best thing I ever did."

Amber smiled politely. She didn't have the heart to tell her about Chief Irons and his lecherous tendencies, although she got the impression that feisty Vivienne would judo-throw him over her shoulder the moment he tried anything funny. If this was correct, then the worst thing she was likely to encounter was a sprained shoulder. Amber made a mental note to leave some literature about sports injuries on the woman's desk, and perhaps a business card for her dad's physiotherapist.

"Chief Irons can be tough to work with too," she said instead. "Don't worry too much about trying to make him happy, and don't be afraid to stand up to him if he gives you a hard time."

Detective Buck raised her eyebrows.

"Is this your way of telling me he's a womanising pig?"

Amber gave up on tact.

"Pretty much."

To her surprise, Detective Buck grinned broadly.

"My boss-before-last was a real pest when it came to women. He tried harassing me at work once and I put him in a choke-hold until he said sorry. Well, wheezed it. I think he took early retirement after that. Thanks for the warning, though, I'll watch out for him."

Amber smiled again, this time with relief.

"Well, I'd better get back upstairs," said Detective Buck. "I've got to get back on this case and chase Kessler on the blood spatter work. Nice meeting you, Amber. And if you ever want some boss-chokehold advice, my door is always open."

Amber laughed.

"See you round, Detective," she said.

"Pssh, Detective! Call me Viv, everyone upstairs does."

"Okay. Catch you later, Det- uh, Viv…"

Amber looked around the room one more time, then left and made her way back to her desk in the west office. She was already trying to work out what the newspapers would say, and whether they were going to misquote her or not. She hoped, too, that she wouldn't end up on television. Had the cameras been running this time? In her nervousness and the glare of the lights, she hadn't noticed any TV cameras rolling.

She cringed at the thought of her hair, in its current state, on local television. Oh, no. No, no, noooooooo. Jason would never let her live it down!

"This week just keeps on getting better and better," she sighed, pushing the office door open and making her way over to her seat, at the opposite end of the room. "What next? The ten plagues of Egypt? The End Times? Jason getting his own car?"

"Don't know about you but I think I'd stick with the frogs and locusts," said Tim, chuckling. "They'd cause a lot less destruction than your brother with a driver's licence."

"Now that you mention it, I'm inclined to agree," said Amber. "Sheesh. And speaking of unimaginable carnage, I don't think I'll ever forgive you for ducking out of that press conference, Tim. How could you leave me to do that statement in front of all those people?"

"I'm a Lonsdale, I get enough cameras shoved in my face when I'm off-duty as it is," said Tim. "You really think I want to look at more reporters when I'm at work? My desk is the only place I manage to get any peace and quiet these days."

"Oh yeah," said Amber, her outrage subsiding. "I forgot about that. The paps been giving you trouble lately?"

"It never used to be this bad," said Tim. "Mom and Dad always managed to keep them away from me and Jimmy when we were growing up. Ever since Grandpa died, though, they've been everywhere. You'd think I'd just been crowned King of England or something."

"Inheritances, huh?" said Marvin, grinning.

Tim rolled his eyes.

"More trouble than they're worth. If you get offered a million dollars, Marv, do yourself a favour and say no."

"Lilly wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I let a million dollars go," said Marvin. "I can practically hear the yelling already."

"Women," said Tim wearily. "Money and women. They'll be the death of us guys."

Amber gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.

"Hey!"

"Money and girls aren't all bad," she reminded him. "We can do a lot of good in the right places. And no, Fulham, I'm _not _talking about the Purple Puma Club," she added, scowling in his direction.

"Yeah, you tell him, Amber," said Rita, nodding approval.

"Yep," said Amber, remembering Tim's cheque. She'd cashed it just the other day; the money was sitting safely in her bank account, ready for use. "I can think of a lot of good I could do with some cash."

"We all could, hon," said Rita. "Oh, the things I'd do with a million dollars…"

Amber just smiled to herself. Unlike her, Rita probably didn't have private detectives and lawyers in mind, but she could think of lots of good things she could do with a million dollars. Or even two and a half.

The question was, where to start? And with zombie attacks on the increase, was it already too late?


	21. Don't Leave Me This Way

**21: Don't Leave Me This Way**

**Tuesday 15th September, 1998**

Amber wasn't in a good mood. Her plans for a pleasant weekend hadn't materialised. She'd been called into work early on Saturday morning and had spent the entire day running around looking into assault cases instead of taking Jason to the baseball game he'd wanted to see.

She'd spent most of Sunday at Joseph's apartment, helping Hank and Amelia Frost sort through the last few boxes of their son's belongings. They'd spent the past six weeks clearing out their son's apartment, a process slowed considerably by the fact that his mother would burst into tears whenever a family photo or treasured childhood memento was unearthed, and would have to be comforted for some time before they could continue.

Amber had gone over a couple of times to help them, and one night she'd even gone over there on her own, just to walk around the place where Joseph had lived. It was stupid, but she'd felt a little closer to him, somehow, for being where he'd been and handling things he'd owned. Everything still smelled of him; clothes, cutlery, books, even bath towels and the sheets on the bed. It was as though he still lived there, still picked out clothes from the dresser every morning and went home each night to sleep in those sheets.

Sunday had been the first time since Joseph's death that she hadn't cried. Mrs Frost had been as emotional as ever, and had even sounded insulted that Amber didn't seem more upset. Her husband and Joseph's brother, Paul, who'd come over to help, had both apologised for the words she'd said, but things had escalated frm there until Amber had finally stormed out of the apartment, vowing never to set foot in it again.

Not that she needed to. The place had been thoroughly cleared out, and scrubbed until she could see her face in every surface. There was nothing left of Joseph there now; it had all been piled into boxes and carted away in his parents' station-wagon. She doubted that she'd speak to the Frosts any time soon, either. They'd been quite close once, but after Joseph's mother had wailed that she didn't care about their son now that he was dead… well, that was a hurt too deep to forgive easily. She'd sobbed all the way home in the car.

Even Jill had been able to offer little comfort or advice. Amber had told her a little while ago about Tim's money and what she intended to do with it. She'd called Jill last night to ask her where she thought she should start with her counter-Umbrella campaign, but instead Jill had dropped a bombshell:

"_I'm leaving town, Amber. I'm heading out to join Chris and Barry out in… well, actually, I'd better not tell you right now. I don't think this is a secure line. I'll call you sometime and fill you in on the details. I've sent word to Brad through one of my contacts and I've asked him to keep an eye on things here."_

"_You mean me, right?"_

"_Well, you, my cat, my apartment. Things generally. Maybe not in that order. You know what I mean. He said he would, anyway."_

"_When are you leaving?"_

"_I can't say. Not here. Come and see me tomorrow. I'll tell you more then."_

It had been a devastating exchange, considering that they'd been best friends right through school and had always told each other everything. She knew why Jill couldn't tell her everything now, and of course she understood, but… still, it hurt, knowing that her best friend couldn't confide in her the way she used to.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? Jill hadn't changed - not really. She was more secretive and more suspicious of others than before, which wasn't surprising, but she was still the same old Jill, full of common sense, subtle humour and the passionate sense of justice and humanity that made her who and what she was. She still liked classic novels, collecting cacti, complaining about the baseball and rolling her eyes at the old sci-fi movies and romantic comedies that she secretly loved watching. Despite all that she'd been through, there was nothing that could change that cool head or that kind heart.

She hadn't changed, either. She was still Amber Bernstein. She hoped and dreamed and feared and believed the same things that she always had. The only differences in her had been brought on by the stress of her situation. In fact, that was the only thing that had changed about her and Jill - the world which they now inhabited. And that was something that they could change right back. Of course they could.

At least, she kept telling herself that, as she mounted the stairs up to the west wing's second floor corridor, passing David Ford on his way down to the darkroom. She reminded herself over and over, as she walked down the corridor, past the weird Greek god-hero-type statue and through the door into the STARS office corridor, that everything would be all right and that the three-man STARS mission abroad would be fine and take down one of the world's biggest and most influential multi-national corporations, while she held the fort at home… entirely on her own. Yeah. No problem.

She knocked on the office door and waited a moment or two for an answer.

"_Come in_," came a soft, hesitant reply.

Amber opened the door and saw Jill sitting on the edge of her desk, wiping her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

"Jill? Oh, hon - are you all right?"

She rushed over to Jill and gave her the biggest hug that she could. Jill returned it, more feebly, then said:

"Close the door. I need to talk to you."

Amber let go and went to close the door. It shut with a little noise that seemed too loud in the quiet room. Even the hum of Jill's computer sounded louder than usual; it was as though the lack of other sounds seemed to amplify the ones that were still there.

"Are you all right?" she said again.

This time Jill nodded.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just got a little choked-up back there. I just…"

She stopped mid-sentence, and looked around her.

"I just can't believe I'm really leaving, that's all."

"Well, you said you needed to quit," said Amber. "I mean, you only get so many days' leave for taking down big evil corporations before they start asking you to do it on your own time. And you must be out of sick days and grandmother's funerals by now."

"That's one way to put it. But yeah, I'm going to be gone for a while, depending on how things go, and Irons sure as hell isn't going to hold the job open for me," said Jill. "I want to come back one day, if I can, but until then I'm relying on you to keep things sane around here."

"Things are getting saner," said Amber. "People are starting to wonder more now. They're asking more questions about what's happening out there. Tim's on our side now, too, which is a start."

"Two and a half million dollars agrees with that statement," said Jill. "I can't believe he really did that."

"I know," said Amber. "I still don't know where to start putting it where my mouth is. I don't think anybody's got a mouth big enough for that kind of money."

Jill laughed.

"I'm going to miss you, Amb," she said, a touch wistfully. "I wish you were coming with us. I'm not going to get much in the way of decent conversation for a while. Things in that department have definitely gone downhill since Rebecca left. I mean, Barry's a great guy, but these days he mostly talks about his family, and Chris - well, you know how Chris is."

"Chris talks about Chris."

"Exactly. Have you heard from Rebecca, by the way?"

"Yeah, she says she got in touch with her family and they're doing fine. She mentioned something about coming home for Thanksgiving and meeting up with a friend of hers in the next state."

Amber thought about Billy Coen, and wondered momentarily where the man was now. Had Rebecca managed to catch up with him yet?

"You know what, I'm glad she's out of it," said Jill, interrupting the thought. "Rebecca's a good kid and I know she's more than capable of helping us out, don't get me wrong, but… oh, I don't know. I just didn't have the heart to put her through it all over again. She's been through enough already."

"I know what you mean. I'm glad she decided to take a career break."

_If you could call it that…_

Jill nodded.

"Me too. Anyway, I'm leaving on the 30th. Chris and Barry are in France and I'm flying out overnight to meet them there. I'll call you when I arrive, but after that, don't worry if you don't hear from me for a while. We'll have to keep contact to a minimum to avoid being tracked."

"Maintaining radio silence?"

"Right. But I'll talk to you before then, so don't worry. I'll keep you posted on everything I can."

"Jill?"

"Yeah? What is it?"

Amber swallowed the lump that was starting to build in her throat.

"I don't want you to go," she said, in a small voice. "I know it's stupid - I _know_ it is - but I don't want you to go. I'm worried I won't see you again if you do."

"I know," said Jill, with a wretched look on her face. "I don't really want to leave the city when there are zombies out on the streets, but Chris and Barry need me."

"But I need you here too!" Amber burst out. "I don't know what to _do _with all this money! I don't know how to undermine Umbrella, or conduct a full-tilt investigation on my own, or what to do when zombies break into my house in the middle of the night! You always know what to do, and once you're gone, I won't have anyone I can talk to about this stuff! I know you keep saying I'll be fine, but I really can't do this on my own! Nobody can!"

This time, it was Jill who got up and gave her a hug.

"Yes, you can," she said. "Believe it or not, I don't know much more than you do about taking on an entire corporation. Chris and Barry say they've got everything worked out but half the time I feel like we're flying by the seat of our pants with this thing. I know it's a lot to leave on your shoulders, but I know you'll come up with a plan. And if you really need someone else to turn to, you can always ask Brad for help. He's a pretty good listener, and he can give you more advice than I can about conducting investigations. Maybe you should give him a call sometime."

She patted Amber on the back, then let her go. Amber looked down at the floor while she digested these words. She glanced back up at Jill, who was thumbing through the letters in her in-tray.

"What if something happens to you?"

"I'll be fine, Amb. I can take care of myself. I'll be back before you know it, anyway. You'll probably be so busy kicking Umbrella's ass that you won't even notice I'm gone."

"I doubt it," said Amber.

"Oh, you will," said Jill, smiling. "You'll be absolutely fine."

Amber noticed something on the desk, just behind the spot where Jill had been sitting. She peered past her friend, and saw that it was a bouquet of flowers; some large yellow ones with broad petals, a few sprays of white flowers, and a couple of pink-red tulips, all neatly arranged in a red wicker basket.

"Oh, would you look at those?" she remarked. "They're gorgeous."

"Rita and the guys downstairs sent them up for me," said Jill, blushing. "Aren't they pretty? I didn't think some of them cared, the way they've been acting around me lately. I know Edward and Carlsen think I'm crazy and Fulham gives me weird looks whenever I go past him."

"Well, the rest of us still care about you," said Amber, picking up the card attached to them. "Maybe Tim and I are the only ones who know what really happened out there, but, you know, the rest of them will come around eventually."

"I don't think the zombies are going to give them much choice," said Jill, her expression settling into a frown. "Those attacks are on the rise all the time. Are they still calling them in as assaults and domestic disputes?"

"And a few road-rages, too," said Amber. "But mostly they're out looking for whatever killed the twins outside City Hall."

Jill sighed.

"Those poor kids," she said. "They didn't stand a chance. The worst thing is, we could have saved them, if only people had been willing to listen to us. We could have followed reports of monster and zombie sightings and taken them out, tried to contain the infection. Now it's just spreading faster and faster."

"Hey, did they give you doughnuts as well?" said Amber, picking up a box marked with the local bakery's logo.

Jill smiled.

"No, those are from Kenny," she said. "He brought them up to me earlier. They're kind of stale. I think they were leftovers. Still, it was a nice thought."

"He's a good kid," said Amber. "I worry about him sometimes. Sounded like he doesn't really have anyone to look out for him."

"I already warned him to leave town," said Jill. "I think he knows something's up. Whether he'll actually leave, well… you know how kids his age are. I think they want to believe that everything's going to be all right in the end."

"I think everybody does," said Amber.

"I wish I did," said Jill, with a heavy sigh that made her shoulders sag even lower. "Help yourself to the doughnuts. The coffee's fresh, Kenny brought it up with him. I can't drink it all by myself and it'll get cold."

She sat back down on the edge of her desk. Amber pulled up Jill's chair and sat down, then pulled a doughnut out of the box.

"Mmm, boysenberry. Must be one of Rita's. She's the only one downstairs who asks for boysenberry filling. Still, this is nice. You know, for a change."

"Yeah. End of your shift yet? I saw you come in early again today."

"Nah, I've got a while to go. We're all on double shifts right now, and I seem to be working extra just to keep up lately. Damn Chief and his restricted duties kept me pinned down with paperwork for a fortnight. I finished it but I'm still trying to catch up with all the other stuff I have to do."

"Are you still on restricted duty?"

"In theory, yes. I shouldn't be patrolling or be involved in pretty much any form of active police work. Unfortunately we're so stretched, two weeks was all he could keep me back for. We need all hands on deck right now, and that's the truth."

Jill looked sympathetic.

"Poor you. At times like these I miss being on patrol, and all the other stuff I used to do. I liked street work."

"Me too. I don't do so much nowadays. Ever since I got the lieutenant promotion, it seems to be more desk work and less of the stuff I actually signed up to do. You know, patrols, catching criminals, all that good old-fashioned stuff."

"You're fortunate you still get to do it. Some people in your position are glued to desks all day."

"I know. Luckily for me, we still need police lieutenants to help out with the practical side of things, what with the ongoing Masefield Park situation."

"Masefield Park _is_ a situation."

"Yep. And now zombies on top of all that. Soon I'll be lucky if I'll have any time to get the admin done at all."

"Out of interest, what _are_ they doing about the zombies they find attacking people?"

"We haven't had any in the custody suite, if that's what you mean. The ones we _have _come across seem to get taken out because they won't stop attacking people when ordered, or they try going for officers when we get there and they get shot down in self-defence. I think there was one in a police siege in Fairview just the other day."

Jill looked thoughtful.

"I'm actually curious to see how you arrest and interview a zombie. I guess it'll only be a matter of time before someone infected gets brought in and turns in one of the cells."

Amber shivered.

"Don't. I hope we've got the good sense not to bring anyone infected back to the station. The more of them try to assault armed police officers and get shot, the better. Having zombies in the basement is the last thing we need right now."

"Yeah, let's keep them on the outside. Oh, and speaking of keeping stuff… I'm going to lock up the office on my way out tonight. Is it okay if I leave the key with you? I don't trust the Chief not to start going through our stuff the minute we're all gone."

"Sure," said Amber. "I'm staying late tonight anyway. Leave it with me and I'll make sure nobody disturbs anything."

"Thanks," said Jill. "At least I know we'll have something we can come back to if you're keeping an eye on the place."

"Well, you've got plenty to come back to," said Amber.

"I hope you're right about that," said Jill, but then she shook herself. "No, you're right. I'll probably be back before I know it."

"Yeah, here's hoping the Chief'll be gone by then," said Amber. "Imagine how the interview would go for the new job application."

"The words "lead" and "balloon" are springing to mind for some reason," said Jill. "Hmph. Do us all a favour and see if you can get his sorry ass out of the precinct. There are some good people here and they'll only get better when he's gone."

"If there's anything I can do to get him out of here, believe me, I will," said Amber, with feeling. "But right now you should be worrying about keeping yourself in shape. Leave the precinct to the rest of us. It's not your problem any more."

"No, it's not," said Jill, and she smiled. "I'm free now. Free to give hell to whoever it's due."

And the look in her eyes left no doubt in Amber's mind that she would.

xxxxxxxxxx

Amber chewed fretfully on the end of her pen. She was supposed to be catching up on yet more paperwork, but all she could think about was having to go on patrol later. Her last patrol had ended with the discovery of the blood-covered, mutilated bodies of two little girls. The sight of blood on red hair was something that was still creeping back to haunt her during quiet moments…

She bit down hard on the pen. She _had _to stop torturing herself like this. Doc Fenton had told her, quite firmly, that there had been nothing that she could have done to rescue the twins from their fate. They'd been killed before she and Kevin had even left the station. They couldn't possibly have known at that point that anything was amiss and wouldn't have been able to reach them in time even if they had known. And that was most definitely, as he'd said, that.

She didn't want to go out on patrol this afternoon. She didn't want to know what she and Officer McGraw would find while they were out there. She and David were being sent out to circle Coburg, and the City Hall area in particular. She knew for a fact there were zombies out there, maybe even the ones who killed the twins. And if she found them, she'd have to shoot them with a gun that she wasn't supposed to have, and then have a great deal of explaining to do.

_Oh, stop it_, scoffed her internal cop. _Protecting the public is what you signed up for, woman! If you don't want to go out there because you're scared of danger, then you might as well hand in your badge and call it a day. The reason you're going out there is to make the neighbourhood a little less dangerous. As for explaining, well, in a few days you've got to explain everything you've ever done anyway. So what if you add something else to the list?_

"Not like it'll change anything," she murmured.

Tim looked up.

"Huh?" he said. "You say something, Amb?"

"Sorry, Tim, just talking to myself."

"Bad habit, but we've all got 'em, so what the hell. Something on your mind?"

Amber dropped her pen and put her head in her hands.

"Oh, Tim, it's those kids. Those little girls. I can't get them out of my head. I know we couldn't have done anything, but…"

He grimaced.

"I know. Part of you always thinks you could have gone out on patrol earlier, or walked a different way. But you heard what the Forensics guys said. By the time we knew they were gone, they were already dead. We did all we could then, and we're doing all we can now. I'm trying not to beat myself up too much about it."

"Succeeding?"

Tim shook his head.

"Nah. Tears me apart just thinking about it. I shut my eyes at night and I just see those little backpacks, and blood spatters halfway up the wall."

"How's Bob holding up?"

"He's doing okay. Not a good first homicide, but I think he'll be all right in a couple of days."

"No such thing as a good homicide," Amber pointed out.

"Yeah, but - oh, come on, you know what I mean! Hauling a dead coke dealer full of bullet holes out of the river is one thing. You expect that kind of stuff on the job and nobody's too sorry when it happens. But a pair of dead schoolgirls with bite-marks on their necks is definitely at the wrong end of the nasty spectrum. Some murders are a lot worse than others, is basically what I'm trying to say here."

"I know what you mean, Tim."

"Then you're just yanking my chain," said Tim. He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, but I'm not really in the mood. Kenny's dragging some newbies around the station. That means I've got to give them the union spiel later, and I haven't had enough sleep for newbies asking me lots of questions about pension plans and the RPRA."

The sound of approaching voices and footsteps came into earshot, and stopped near the door of the west office.

"Talk of the devil," said Tim, looking up. "That sounds like them now."

The door opened and five people entered the room. One was Kenny Feng, the high-school intern; the other four were dressed in police uniform but were all young, very clearly new, and looking around them with varying degrees of interest. The first of the three male officers was a strikingly tall man with a swarthy complexion, the beginnings of a goatee and a pro-wrestler's perfectly-honed physique. The second was a shorter man with spiky red hair, who was smirking. The third man had a more friendly demeanour, with dirty-blond hair, bright blue eyes and high cheekbones which would surely attract plenty of female attention. The fourth was a pretty, petite woman with strawberry-blonde hair tied up in a neat bun.

"This is where you will be stationed," Kenny informed the newcomers, with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the office. "Your desks have yet to be assigned, but the Chief will find room for you. The lockers at the front end of the room there are meant to store your stuff, though it's popular among the officers to just use the underneath of their desks."

"Oh, you're not supposed to let out our dirty little secrets, Kenny," Amber whispered to Kenny, getting up as he passed her desk.

Kenny turned around, grinning, but when he saw who'd been talking to him, he looked slightly taken aback. She wasn't sure why he looked so startled, although it had been a while since they'd last bumped into each other. Perhaps he thought she'd left, like Jill and the other members of STARS?

"Listen to the little guy talk so formally to the recruits," said David McGraw, clearly amused by Kenny's efforts to look and sound official, and he clapped a hand on Amber's shoulder. "If I didn't know any better, Kenny, I'd say you're being the bully over here!"

Amber smiled. Good old David. He'd been out on patrol a lot lately, but when he was around, he always seemed to keep people's spirits high. It was a shame he couldn't spend more time in the west office. He was an easy person to talk to, and a good listener if you had a problem weighing heavily on your shoulders. He was also more tactful than Kevin, who had a weakness for inappropriate jokes at inopportune moments, and not as distracted by family problems as Marvin and Tim currently were.

Kenny looked mildly annoyed by this interruption.

"Officer McGraw, I'm trying to do some work here," he said, through gritted teeth.

"You'll have to forgive our Kenny," said David, smiling, as he approached the new recruits. "He doesn't mean to have a stick shoved up his ass, but he's got a killer work ethic. Officer David McGraw here! And I'm lookin' forward to working with the lot of you!"

"And I'm Officer Amber Bernstein," Amber said, following him over and shaking each new officer's hand, one by one. "Kenny's an awesome worker here, and if he was getting paid, I'm sure he'd be making more than all of us."

She gave Kenny's hair an affectionate ruffle on her way back to her desk. Kenny looked more than a little embarrassed by this, but he smiled at her anyway. She noticed that the new female officer was smiling as well, while the blond guy whispered a question to David about how old the station's intern was. He looked surprised by the reply, and she noticed an uncomfortable-looking Kenny mumble a correction about his real age.

"Well, we'd better let you guys finish up the tour of this place," Amber said, deciding to cut in before Kenny sank into the ground from the sheer weight of teenage embarrassment. "You have a lot of ground to cover. It was so nice meeting all of you!"

"It's time to check out the second floor of the west wing," Kenny said hastily, leading the new recruits past the lockers and out of the room, "after which we will have a short break and recommence with a tour of the east wing and the basement levels…"

The door closed behind them. No sooner had they gone then Rita gave a loud sigh and started fanning herself with the report she was supposed to have been writing.

"Did you see the new blond guy?" she announced. "Boy, was he a cutie! I hope they put him on patrol with me…"

There was laughter from the other end of the room.

"Damn, Rita, talk about hot pursuit!"

"Keep Rita away from the handcuffs! Remember what happened last time!"

"Hey Rita, you should ask him out! Maybe he'll let you hold his nightstick!"

"I bet she'd teach him a thing or two out on patrol…"

"Aww, shut up," she said, waving the comments away. "I just said he was cute. Can't a girl show a little interest any more?"

"New girl was a real hottie," remarked Officer Carlsen. "Shame we'll never fit her and the others in here. There's hardly enough room to move in here as it is."

"Carlsen's right, we're never going to fit any more desks in this room," said Marvin, with a glance around the office. "Space is going to be a real issue once these guys start work. I think I'm going to have to ask the Chief if we can start moving people upstairs."

"What? You mean the STARS office?" said Amber, horrified. "Marvin, no!"

"No, he's right," said Rita. "Jill's leaving now, so there's a whole office upstairs sitting empty. If we can take that over and put Kevin, Neil and Elliot upstairs, and maybe two of the newbies, then we should have about enough room down here for everybody."

"But that's the STARS office!" protested Amber.

"Was," Rita reminded her. "Today is Jill's last day. Once she's gone, that's it. It'll take a while to form another STARS unit, assuming there's going to be another STARS unit, and until then, we really need the space. We can always clear out of there and find another spot if we have to make space for new STARS members further on down the line."

"I don't believe this!" Amber said, staring accusingly down at Rita and Marvin. "Jill hasn't even walked out of the building yet and you're already talking about taking over the office and giving her desk to somebody else! It's like you can't wait for her to go! Like you don't even want to admit STARS exists any more!"

"Amber, I hate to break it to you, but it _doesn't_," said Rita. "The unit's disbanded. Jill's the last one, and now she's gone too. I know it's not a nice conversation and we're all sad about what happened to STARS, but we're desperate for office space. Half the officers in this station are sharing desks as it is."

"How can you be sad about what happened to STARS?" said Amber, her voice rising almost to a shout. "You don't even believe what happened to them! Nobody does! You all called them liars and idiots and drug addicts and now that they've been driven away, you're even taking away the space they've left behind!"

"Whoa, Amber," said Elliot, looking up at her in astonishment. "Calm down, we're not trying to kick out STARS! All we're after is a little extra elbow room, that's all. The office is going to be empty soon."

"Well, it's not empty yet," said Amber, narrowing her eyes. "No thanks to a whole bunch of people here…"

"I think maybe it's time we went on patrol," said David McGraw quickly. "It's getting cooped-up in here and everyone's tired and grouchy. A little more breathing room will do us all some good."

He took Amber by the arm and ushered her out. His grasp on her arm was gentle, but she got the impression that his grip would tighten if she tried to pull away. She took a deep breath in and allowed him to lead her out into the foyer.

"What's got into you lately?" he said, once they were outside the office. "You've been acting strange all day. Is this about Jill leaving? I know she's your friend, but maybe you should - "

"I'm fine, David," said Amber, exhaling. "Sorry. I guess I've just got too much stuff on my mind and too much to do. Here and at home. And I could really use some more coffee."

This time she got a small smile out of him.

"You and everyone else in the building," he said. "Well, we've got time before we need to head out. Why don't we stop off for some on the way?"

xxxxxxxxxx

They called in at Fiorelli's on Main Street and ordered two coffees to take out. David watched as she picked up her cup from the counter and took a sip.

"Feel better?" he said.

She nodded.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's okay. Everyone's under pressure back at the station and things are getting a little het up. We're all in the same boat right now, though. I understand exactly what you're going through."

_I've lost the love of my life, my best friend's leaving town and going on a mission she might not come back from, my little brother is living on my couch, and on top of all that, I've got to hold down a job protecting people from zombie attacks which we can't predict and, in my own time, work to take down Umbrella in secret using several million dollars of someone else's money, which I have no idea how to start spending. Somehow, David, I don't think you know exactly what I'm going through!_

She wanted to shout it out, but swallowed down the angry words instead. Much as she wanted to start venting about her problems, it wouldn't accomplish anything, or at least anything good. She didn't want to risk alienating a good friend - especially now, when she needed good, trustworthy people around more than ever.

David handed the cashier some notes and a handful of change, and they left the café.

"You shouldn't worry about it, you know," David continued, as they walked down the street. "You're not the only one having problems with stress. I heard Kevin had a pretty big blow-out yesterday. You hear about that?"

Amber nearly dropped her coffee cup.

"No! What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's all right. He just kind of lost it and started yelling when someone in one of the offices upstairs said something about that case. You know, the one with the twin girls."

"Poor Kevin," said Amber, relaxing again. "I know how he feels. It's the most heartbreaking, frustrating thing, knowing that those girls needed us and we couldn't help them in time. He was so upset about what happened."

"Yeah," said David. "Those poor kids. I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of whoever killed them. If they're attacking children in broad daylight, right by a public place… whoever they are, they're not afraid of getting caught."

"You got that right," said Amber.

She took a sip of her coffee.

"Still don't understand how nobody in City Hall heard anything," said David, shaking his head from side to side. "If they'd been dead for a couple of hours before they were found, then you'd think someone would have heard them yelling at the time, right?"

"Depends on the timing. City Hall closes at four on Thursdays," said Amber. "Might not have been anyone left in the building by the time the kids came by."

David looked incredulous.

"What, nobody working late? Not one person?"

"Guess not."

"Huh," said David. "Well, that's civic service for you. But what about the shopping district? The newspaper office down the street? There must have been people still around, someone who must have heard _something…_"

"Oh, we had some calls afterwards," said Amber. "Two or three people who said they heard some yelling off in the distance. One guy said he thought it was just some neighbourhood kids fooling around outside the store where he works. He said they're always playing along that stretch, so he didn't think it was anything out of the ordinary. Another guy said he looked out of the window but couldn't see anybody, and someone else said they thought it was just their neighbour's TV turned up too loud."

"Oh, man. You can't help thinking if just one of those people had gone to check it out - "

"Doc Fenton told me that one of the girls died right away and the other didn't survive the attack for very long," said Amber hurriedly. She didn't want to start dwelling on it again. "Even if someone had reached them sooner, they wouldn't have been able to do anything to save them. Odds are, they would have been attacked too."

"Too late to wonder now, anyway. It's done," said David. He took the lid off his coffee and dropped it into a garbage can as he passed by. "Hey, is this a latte? Damn, I thought I ordered an americano. Or whatever they're calling regular coffee these days. Is regular coffee the same as americano, or is that something different?"

"It's still coffee, David. If you'd rather have mine, we can switch."

"Nah, you've been drinking it."

"I don't have cooties."

"Sure, you don't, but you've still been drinking it. Germs and stuff, you know. I'll stick with the latte. What the hell. It's still coffee, right?"

"Yep. Sure is."

They carried on down Main Street. It was a beautiful clear day, although the sunshine didn't feel quite as warm now that they were heading into mid-September. In another week or so, people would stop heading outdoors without jackets on and start thinking about getting their winter coats out of the wardrobe. There would be rain, and greyer skies, and then the Michael Festival at the end of the month.

Ah, the Michael Festival. Back when she was a kid, they'd called it the Raccoon Festival. She had fond memories of the picnics, the annual elementary school play commemorating the story of Raccoon City, the empty patch of land in Haines where they pitched the funfair every year, and best of all, the St Michael Parade, dedicated to the town's patron saint.

She'd loved those parades. They'd been as much a part of her year as Christmas and the Fourth of July. Those memories of silly hats, novelty balloons and showers of bright confetti were as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the popcorn and cotton candy, and cordite from the fireworks, and see the smiling beauty queens waving from carnival floats while the Raccoon City High School marching band played "Liberty Bell" and "Stars And Stripes Forever". Most of all, she remembered being a little girl, clutching her father's hand, full of awe and breathless excitement as Main Street became a riot of colour and laughter and music…

"Hey, you all right?"

Amber snapped out of it, and shook her head vigorously to clear out the visions of party streamers and pageants.

"I'm fine," she said. "I was just thinking about the Michael Festival."

"Always wondered why it was called that," said David, as he finished off his latte.

"Wasn't always," said Amber, tossing her empty cup into a garbage can. "Used to be the Raccoon Festival, back when I was a kid. One year they changed it to the Saint Michael Festival, because he's the patron saint around these parts and the parade was named after him anyway. Then when Mayor Warren got himself elected, he decided to drop the "Saint" part. He said people of other faiths might be offended by the religious connotations."

"So he made it sound like the day was all about him instead?"

"He didn't exactly disassociate himself from the festivities when they were renamed, put it that way. There's no connection, of course, but I think he's happy to let everybody think it's the day we get to celebrate his glory. And he isn't exactly in a hurry to set the record straight."

"Huh," said David, sounding disgusted.

"Couldn't have put it better myself. I mean, renaming the town festival after yourself, pretending you didn't, and then acting like you were meant to be the star of the show all along? Talk about conceited."

The conversation tailed off as they walked, and the city noise started to fade back in. Amber had started thinking about the preparations for the Michael Festival security and the altered patrol rosters that Marvin was probably pulling his hair out over even now.

But there'd been a time when the festival had meant more to her than a mildly inconvenient blip in the police force's calendar. It had been about civic pride, celebrating everything that was good about their community and its citizens, and generally being grateful that Raccoon City existed. Part of her still thought of it as the Raccoon Festival, and yearned silently for the sense of childlike wonder that she'd lost somewhere along the years. Back then, the popcorn and the floats and funfair rides had been pretty much the happiest part of the year; drawing her family that tiny bit closer together, and closer to their neighbours and friends, by that great big shared sense of belonging.

She smiled as she let herself remember everything. In her head, memories took over and Main Street became the one she remembered as a child. There were party-poppers, kite shows and treasure hunts, and everywhere she looked, there was noise, colour, music, glitter and joy.

And then something cut through the memory, ripping it apart. The pop of fireworks became a more sudden, violent sound, and the cheers morphed almost seamlessly into cries of terror.

Shocked, Amber looked over at David, and then they started to run towards the sound of the commotion. Screams filled the air ahead. They tried to run faster, to catch up with the sound and whatever was making it, but they slowed their approach when they saw the scene ahead of them.

There was a crowd standing on Main Street, but it wasn't the one she remembered from those crisp autumn evenings. About fifteen teenagers were standing in the street outside a grocery store, and they were staring in shock at a plump, middle-aged man standing in the doorway. The man was holding a shotgun in trembling hands, which was still pointing at the group. On the ground that stood between them was the motionless body of a teenage boy, lying in the centre of a pool of blood.

David paled, and cursed out loud.

"Please tell me the stupid son of a bitch hasn't just done what I think he's just done… damn it, he must have seen the newspapers!"

"Huh?"

David ducked behind the nearest car, and prompted her to do the same. The sound of sirens was already in the air, somewhere off in the direction of the precinct, and the wind was carrying it towards them.

"I had a feeling something like this was going to happen," he said, reaching for his radio. "What with all the zombie stories floating around lately, I figured it wouldn't be long before some stupid bastard took someone for a zombie and put a couple of rounds in their head, but… man, I don't believe this."

His voice was low, quiet and urgent as he spoke into the radio.

"Officer McGraw here… requesting urgent backup and an ambulance down on Main right away. We've got a shooter here and a kid down outside Wrigley's Grocery Store. Suspect is armed with a shotgun and may be unstable."

"_Confirmed, backup is on the way. A patrol car should be with you in two minutes. Hang tight."_

They got up, drawing their pistols, but didn't rush towards the crowd. They wanted to, desperately, but running towards a man armed with a shotgun and with a group of teenagers still in his sights could easily have provoked more violence or startled the suspect into fleeing. Instead they approached quietly, until they were right on top of the crowd, and tried to position themselves behind the nearest available cover.

One of the girls, a sweet-faced blonde, was sobbing hysterically beside the boy's body. Her clothes and hands were covered in blood. On either side of her were two boys, trying their best to console her.

Two more girls - a blonde and a Latina girl with dreadlocks - were weeping and hugging another boy, a handsome dark-haired youth who also looked close to tears. However, the rest of the group were angrily confronting the shopkeeper, as though the shotgun in his hand and the fact that he was possibly out of his mind didn't matter in the slightest.

"Look what you did!" snarled a girl with frizzy brown hair, pointing to the body. "You killed him, you idiot! Did you even _look _at him before you shot him? Well, good job, mate, you got rid of your zombie, 'cause he's dead all right!"

"You murderer!" yelled a boy with a blue baseball cap on his head. "You'll pay for this!"

"Yeah, you ain't gettin' away with this!" shouted another girl with dyed-blonde hair and too much gold jewellery, running up the street from a nearby payphone booth and rejoining the crowd. "I just called the cops! They'll be here any second!"

"Everyone, remain calm," said David loudly, moving closer to the group and pointing his gun in the man's direction. "Sir, put down your weapon and put your hands on your head."

"Whoa!" exclaimed the dark-haired boy with the two crying girls hanging onto his shoulders, turning round to look at him. "You turned up fast! You run here or somethin'?"

"What happened here?" said Amber, taking the boy by the shoulders and ushering him behind the car. The two girls were still hanging on to him, still wailing loudly; she made sure they were safely behind cover as well, then returned her attention to the man with the shotgun.

"He killed him," wept the girl sitting on the floor. "We were - w-we were walkin' down the street, talkin' 'bout what we saw in the newspapers today, an' Valerio started horsin' 'round, pretendin' to be a z-z-zombie, an' we were all laughin', then all of a sudden…. bang! He killed him! He shot him, an' then he just fell down… and now he's dead! Valerio's _dead!_"

She burst into a fresh flood of tears and tried to hug the head and shoulders of the dead boy.

"He said he thought he was a zombie!" said a boy with spiky red hair and several piercings, darting behind the car to safety.

"Is that true?" said Amber.

The boy nodded, his brown eyes huge with fear.

"He said his wife died from this disease or somethin' an' he said zombies were spreadin' it 'round the city! He shot our friend 'cause he said he thought he was undead, even though he was talkin' to us an' stuff!"

"I think it's a lousy excuse," snapped the girl with frizzy hair. "He just wanted to take it out on us 'cause he hates skaters!"

"Yeah, he keeps pickin' on us every time we come by here, sayin' we kids've been stealin' stuff from his store an' we ain't allowed in here no more, even though we never stole nothin'," complained a boy with glasses, who was sitting next to the sobbing blonde. "I didn't think he hated us enough to start pickin' us off with a shotgun, though!"

The man seemed frozen to the spot, despite David's order. He didn't seem about to move from the position he was standing in, even with the sound of police sirens fast approaching.

"Sir!" said David again, louder this time, but without any emotion in his voice. "Please drop your weapon and place your hands on your head."

"Hey, officer, maybe you should take him downtown 'stead of us for a change," said a Hispanic-looking boy, shooting a resentful look at David. "You keep blamin' us for stuff we ain't done, but it sure as hell ain't our fault this time. Valerio didn't do nothin' wrong an' this _pendejo _shot him down."

The man with the shotgun looked petrified at this.

"No - I - I didn't mean to kill him!" he said faintly. "I didn't know he was just a kid! I thought he was a zombie! I was in my store and I heard all this noise outside, so I went to investigate, and I saw him groaning and stumbling around, and I heard that girl calling out that he was a zombie and to call the police and the army, asking people to save them from the zombies! I thought they were in trouble, so I ran back inside and grabbed my shotgun from under the counter, and I just - "

"We were just kiddin' around!" screamed the girl, still clutching her dead friend. Tears were pouring down her young face. "He was _playin'_, damn it! He was just a kid, and you shot him 'cause he was playin' in the street, makin' jokes 'bout zombies! I joined in! We all did! We were just havin' fun on our way home from the skate park, an' then you had to go an' - an' kill him!"

The man looked as though he was about to pass out from terror. His face was paler than she thought was even possible, as though someone had plastered him with white clown make-up and then failed to paint the rest of the features on.

"I - I shot him… oh, God, I shot him!"

"Drop the weapon," ordered David once again, as emotionlessly as before. "Sir, drop the weapon. I repeat, please drop the weapon."

The man's hands twitched, but they tightened around the shotgun. His face was covered in sweat; his thinning brown hair lay damply on his scalp, and perspiration glistened from every pore.

"Please drop the weapon and put your hands on your head," said David, a little more sharply this time.

Amber bit her lip nervously. The teenagers - whose faces, she realised, with ever-increasing horror, she recognised from one of the local skater gangs - were all staring at the man and David, waiting for one of them to make the next move. Even the girl who'd been crying was staring intently at the scene unfolding ahead of her.

Three patrol cars tore up the street and screeched to a halt, feet away. The man jumped and several of the teenagers ducked, crying out in alarm. One of the girls screamed as seven armed police officers burst out of the cars and assumed positions behind them, positioning their weapons on the hoods and roofs.

"Police!" bellowed one of the new arrivals. "Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head! That's an order! Drop your weapon!"

Sweat glistened on the man's face, giving his pale, wrinkled skin a horrible sheen. He still seemed unable to move, and his hands were trembling so much that the barrel of the shotgun was dancing around in a rapid figure-eight pattern.

"Drop your weapon!" screamed another, female officer, at the top of her voice. "Drop it and put your hands on your head! Drop the weapon! Hands on your head! Drop the weapon now! DROP IT!"

Amber held her breath.

"For the love of God, man, just drop it! You're going to get yourself killed!" shouted someone from a neighbouring store, who'd come out to see what was going on.

"Drop it!" the female officer screamed again. "DROP IT NOW!"

The whole world seemed to be holding its breath now, and still the man didn't move. The orders to surrender the weapon were repeated at increasing volume and intervals, over and over.

Seconds passed. They felt more like minutes. Amber couldn't take her eyes off the sweating, balding, middle-aged man with the look of desperate terror on his face. He reminded her of a deer caught in the hunter's sights, knowing the certain doom that awaited him and yet, gripped with fear, unable to escape it.

But then, shaking, he collapsed to his knees. He placed the shotgun on the ground ahead of him and, very slowly, he put his shaking hands on his head. Tears and sweat mingled together as they dripped down his face.

The world seemed to breathe out, and then the armed police officers moved all at once, some escorting the assembled skaters away from the scene and others clustering around the kneeling shopkeeper, moving the shotgun out of his reach and pinning him face-first to the ground.

David unhooked the pair of handcuffs from his belt and fastened them around the man's wrists. She heard him solemnly reading out the man's rights, but her concentration was broken by the sound of anguished screams. The blonde girl who had been weeping over her friend's body was being separated from him.

"No! Valerio!" she howled. "Don't make me leave him like that! I want to stay with him… let me stay with him! Please! No, no! Let me go! _Valerio!_"

The last syllable became a long, loud wail as she was pulled away, kicking and struggling, by a police officer in full riot gear.

Amber put her gun back in its holster and went over to examine the body.

The boy was lying on his back and staring up at the sky, his eyes still wide with surprise. Blood was starting to seep into his blond hair and had already soaked through his shirt. She noticed that the pattern on the material was faded and that the boy's sneakers were similarly worn and scuffed, although his jeans looked rather newer. They were a little too large around the waist; probably hand-me-downs from an older brother or cousin, nothing unusual for a downtown kid. The only reason her old clothes hadn't been passed down to Jason was because he'd objected so loudly to wearing pink.

The worst thing was, the kid looked so desperately young. He couldn't have been any older than fifteen or sixteen. He would have had a favourite band, a teenage crush, hobbies, friends, posters on his walls, and the dreams of future greatness that all teenagers had. He had a family, too; he was someone's son, someone's brother. They would have had such big hopes for him, and so much pride. But those angelic features would never have the chance to age and mature into something handsome as he got older, because his future life had been snatched away from him in an instant. He'd never be any older than fifteen, or sixteen, all because of that one shot.

Of course, she'd seen it all before.

_But that had been different…_

She thought of chalk outlines, and skateboards without owners, and felt her heart wrench in her chest. Suddenly the simmering violence of ten years ago didn't seem that far away. She remembered Dmitri, who'd done nothing except belong to the wrong gang, whose death had sparked months of bloody warfare on the streets of downtown. She remembered the torrent of anger, grief and hatred, but most of all, she remembered the fear that had gripped the town for almost a year before things began to subside.

The funny thing was, she could feel that fear returning. Panic was starting to sweep through Raccoon City's streets, albeit in a different guise, and innocent people were paying for it with their lives once again. The unfairness of it made her want to weep. After ten years, things should have changed so much more than this…

"Poor kid," said David, behind her. "Hell of a way to go. How old was he?"

"Just a kid," said Amber. She took a deep breath, to control the swell of suppressed emotions. It was such a painful reminder of the trouble she'd witnessed first-hand in the downtown districts around her home. St James East had been relatively unscathed by the gang wars, compared to most parts of downtown, but two close brushes with violent death had brought the cruelty and pointlessness of them close enough to home to hurt. She'd known people who'd lost their lives; she'd had to sit next to empty desks at school, go to memorial services and grow up wondering what kids like Troy, Ruby and Dmitri would have done, had they somehow managed to escape their fates.

But this wasn't about skating, or gang territory, or old rivalries. The boy had died because of a stupid mistake made by a man half-crazed by fear. That seemed even more unfair, somehow. There hadn't been a reason for his death, just a cause, and not even one that had been worth dying for.

"Poor kid didn't deserve this," she murmured, looking down again at the body.

_If we'd only been there sooner, to stop the guy before he could shoot, this kid might have lived and -_

No. She wasn't responsible for this death. It had been too late for her and her partner to prevent the tragedy from occurring, as it had been with Hilary and Jessica Ratchet. The only thing they'd been able to do was respond to the incident and make sure nobody else was in danger.

_Except everyone in the city's in danger. Umbrella's the cause of all this fear, and ignorance and denial is fuelling it. If we don't stop this, and soon, there'll be more deaths and things will spiral even further out of control…_

"Is there anything I can do?"

She'd said the words out loud, without thinking. David turned to look at her.

"Sure," he said. "They're putting the guy in the back of the car so we can take him back to the station. Go and check on him, see how he's doing. Guy still looks a bit twitchy. Try to calm him down and see if you can get any sense out of him while you're at it. I'm going to ask Gibson and Hunt if they can cover the rest of our patrol. We need to get this guy out of here."

Amber nodded.

"Okay."

"You all right? You look kind of…"

"I'm fine. Go talk to Gibson. I'll see how our perp's doing."

She crossed the street and opened the front passenger door of the police car. Three other officers were standing nearby, looking at the person inside with expressions ranging from distaste to disinterest.

"Hey, Bernstein," one greeted her. "I'm kind of surprised you're here. I would have thought you'd have had enough of dead skaters by now."

"Yeah, real funny, Briggs," Amber snapped.

"Hey, who's laughing?" Briggs replied, leaning back against a rear passenger door. "I'm on unpaid overtime and double shifts, and now we're scooping up middle-aged psychopaths from Main Street in the middle of the day. What next? Is Hell going to start overflowing?"

"If there are baby-murderers like this one in the middle of our city, then I think it already is," the second officer said, and she spat very pointedly on the ground.

"Got that right," the third, Gibson, agreed.

"Hey, cut the chat," David ordered. "You keep an eye on her while she tries to get some sense out of the guy."

"Don't worry, McGraw," said the second officer, nodding in his direction. "If he so much as looks at her funny, he'll be riding back to the station tied to the roof."

"No need for that, Harlane," said David sternly.

"Yeah, whatever you say, sir," said Harlane, but she glared at the suspect through the window. "Bernstein, if this asshole gives you any trouble, lemme know. I can slap him on the roof and practise a couple of PIT manoeuvres on the way home. I'm sure nobody'll mind if he falls off on the way there."

"Uh… that won't be necessary," Amber assured the scowling woman. "And Harlane, you really need to work on keeping your personal feelings out of cases. It's important not to get too involved in stuff like this. Innocent till proven guilty and all that, remember?"

"I'm surprised you can say that, considering how close you are to the skaters," said Harlane, unwrapping a stick of gum and popping it in her mouth. "Still, you deal with it pretty good. I guess I could learn a few things from you."

Amber was going to reply that she wasn't _that _close to the skaters, but the officer's attention seemed to have wandered elsewhere. Instead, she climbed into the front passenger seat and shut the door behind her.

"Wh-who are you?" came a tremulous voice from the back seat.

She looked over her shoulder at the middle-aged man. He was still covered in sweat and looked no less pale and shaky. His hands had been cuffed very firmly behind his back, so that all she could see of his arms were the tops of his shoulders. There was a police officer standing in front of each rear passenger door, too; even if he hadn't been handcuffed, he clearly wasn't going anywhere.

"Lieutenant Bernstein," she replied to her captive audience. "And you, sir?"

The man looked down at his knees.

"Wrigley. Rodney Wrigley. I own the grocery store."

Amber knew the name. She stopped by the grocery store sometimes if she was on the patrol route. She dimly recalled a friendly middle-aged guy offering her a free can of soda as part of some in-store promotion deal, a few weeks back. Was he the same trembling wreck sitting in the back seat with cuffs on his wrists?

"Hey, I know you," he said, after a minute. "You're Ray Bernstein's daughter, right? You live over in St James East. You stop down at the store sometimes."

Amber nodded.

"Yeah. How's business, Mr Wrigley? Store going okay?"

"Not so good lately," he said shakily. "Not since all that trouble in the mountains. You know, with the attacks. Ever since the trouble started down here, business has been down. Real down, the past week or so."

"I heard your wife passed away, Mr Wrigley," said Amber, remembering something she'd heard a few moments ago. "I'm sorry."

She didn't think someone's shoulders could slump any lower than his already were, but he managed somehow. He looked more weary now than frightened, although the terrible sheen and pallor of his skin remained. She could smell the damp, acrid smell of sweat starting to permeate the hot afternoon air in the car.

"I miss Beatrice so much," he said. "Ever since she - she died, in the hospital, things haven't been right. I feel like the whole world's falling apart."

The last word sounded as though it had caught in his throat. Amber turned round more in her seat, and saw him swallow, trying to catch his breath.

"Mr Wrigley, I hope you don't mind if I ask, but what happened to your wife? How did she die?"

He shuddered. It could have been horror, or disgust, or perhaps the sheer unhappiness of the recollection.

"It was a rat," he said, after a second. "It got into the kitchen somehow while she was cleaning. Bit her on the hand. I took her to the hospital and they fixed her up. It didn't look bad, but then she got some kind of infection… even the doctors didn't know what it was. No matter what drugs they gave her, it wouldn't clear up. She started acting weird. She was hungry all the time, and irritable, and tired, and then when she was babysitting the neighbours' kid, she got sicker and the kid's parents had to take her to the hospital. She - she only lasted a couple of days. She got worse and worse, and then she just…"

"I'm sorry," said Amber, seeing him grimace.

"The doctors at the hospital said it was some kind of new disease," he said, looking fretfully out of the window. Seeing only a police officer's back, he turned around to face the front again, then dropped his gaze again to the floor. "It's some kind of flesh-eating, degenerative condition. The people who get infected… they end up like zombies. They even bite themselves, and other people, like they're rabid. There's no cure. And the doctors think it's spreading. They said that they keep getting more cases coming in all the time."

The T-Virus. She wanted to tell him, so much, that it was a real disease and that she knew where it was coming from, and what caused it. She was starting to wonder what was stopping her. Surely he deserved to know?

"Why aren't they warning people about this?" the man said plaintively, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Isn't an outbreak of an infectious disease a public health issue? Shouldn't there be some kind of quarantine? Something?"

She gave a small, hopeless shrug.

"Maybe. I don't know for sure. Not really my field of expertise."

"No," he said, subsiding. "I guess not."

"You said you thought that the kid you shot was a zombie," she said, twisting the topic slightly. "What did you mean by that?"

The man looked startled.

"It's like I said," he said. "Whoever gets that disease, the one that killed my wife… it turns them into a zombie. They try to bite people and it spreads the infection. And they don't even know what they're doing, because their minds are completely gone. Beatrice didn't even know her name at the end! She just kept talking about being hungry. Damn it, she even started trying to bite off her own fingers! Her own _fingers_!"

"So you thought the boy was a zombie? Infected by that mystery disease?"

Mr Wrigley started to tremble again.

"I know you must think I'm crazy," he said, swallowing. "But I saw him stumbling around, talking about eating people, putting out his arms in front of him - all the things that my wife and the people in the ward with her were starting to do, right before they died. I thought he was infected! I really did! That girl was even calling for help! I thought he was going to start attacking people, and I didn't want him to spread the disease and kill more people! I thought he was going to attack _me_! He was right outside my store and I - I didn't want to - to - "

"To what?"

"To end up like my poor wife!" he burst out in anguish. "My poor Beatrice died in agony, not even knowing who I was, when we'd been married for so many years… I'd rather die than end up the same way!"

"But instead of waiting a couple more seconds to see if he really was infected with a dangerous disease, you shot a kid who was messing around with his friends, making fun of the zombie stories in the news," said Amber. "I know you didn't want to die, Mr Wrigley, but neither did he. Unfortunately for him, that's how he ended up. And unfortunately for you, you're going to have to explain that decision to the courts."

The man's mouth dropped open.

"But I - I didn't mean to kill him! Not if he was just a kid! I wouldn't kill anybody! I've never hurt anybody in my whole life! I never meant to hurt him, even if he was just one of those no-good skater kids! And besides, I thought he was already dead!"

Amber bridled at this. How dare he say something like that about a teenager he'd killed without even really thinking? How could he take someone's life, even by accident, and then talk about it as though a downtown kid wasn't the same kind of human being as everyone else?

"Mr Wrigley, I think perhaps I should impress upon you the seriousness of the charges you're facing," she said, trying hard to stay calm. "It's possible that you'll be facing manslaughter charges, and that's if you're fortunate. The DA might even decide to prosecute you for second-degree murder."

Mr Wrigley's face whitened to an even more ghastly shade.

"Murder? Me? But - but I…"

"You shot and killed a minor, by your own admission, Mr Wrigley," she reminded him. "And he might just be a skater kid to you, but he was a person as well. His name was Valerio Schiaparelli. He was sixteen. Lived with his family in Coburg and went to St Michael's Catholic High. Those kids he was with are the Street Rats. And I know you think all skaters are troublemakers, but most of them are just kids. Kids with names, and families, and the same hopes and ambitions as you and me."

The man's eyes were as wide as saucers now, and rimmed with tears.

"You said he was just a kid? Sixteen?"

"That's correct."

The man started to cry, suddenly, ferociously, and then he slumped to one side, sobbing bitterly into the black leather of the seats.

"He was just a kid, and I - I killed him! Oh God! Oh God, I killed a kid… what have I done?"

Amber sat there in an awkward silence, trying to work out what to say. The man's hysterical sobs from the back seat showed no signs of subsiding. She felt almost sorry for him. Should she be feeling sorry for him? Surely what had happened to him could have happened just as easily to her, or to anybody…

Before she could work this thought any further through her head, David returned. He opened up the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Okay," he said. "Let's get back to the station."

xxxxxxxxxx

Mr Wrigley had cried almost the whole way back to the precinct. At times Amber wasn't sure if he was crying over what he'd done, or over what was going to happen to him, or perhaps both at once.

They'd gone through the usual process of checking him into custody and now he was sitting in one of the cells in the station's basement area. They didn't normally get well-off store owners like Mr Wrigley down in the cells. He looked out of place sitting between Crazy Jeb, one of their drunk-tank regulars, and local down-and-out Offbeat Oscar, who'd been caught trying to steal a rhinestone collar from someone's dog in Raccoon Park "to stop it transmitting the government broadcasts", as he'd explained frantically to the arresting officer.

"So who's going to interview him?" said Amber, as they headed back upstairs.

"I think one of the detectives is going to bring him up later for questioning," said David. "Not me, anyway. I've got to leave early tonight. You going home too, or are you pulling another double shift?"

"Nah, I'm going to finish up my report and then I'm going home."

"Don't blame you. You've been spending a lot of extra time in the office lately. Go home and get some rest."

"That's the plan."

"Okay. See you later."

They parted company, and Amber went back to the west office. It was quieter here now. The only person still left behind was Marvin, who was finishing up some admin before he want home. Ten minutes after she sat down to her report, he got up and put his jacket on.

"Well, I've handed over your suspect to Detective Buck for questioning. Better get back or Lilly'll wonder where I am… see you tomorrow."

"Night, Marv."

And that left her with the office to herself. She sat alone in the office, slightly self-conscious about being the only person in a room full of desks, and tried to concentrate on her report.

This was one of the toughest ones she'd had to write in a while. Things like the Rove and Ratchet incidents had been hard, with all those gory details going round in her head, but this one had dredged up a lot of painful memories, ones which she would have preferred to remain buried.

She couldn't help thinking about the gang wars, and the fear and trouble they'd stirred up in downtown. Even while she concentrated on the here and now, the past was still alive and well in her head. Memories of people ten years dead loomed large, wanting to be remembered and linked with the events of the present.

Like Dmitri. Many years back, she'd been hanging out with a couple of classmates who skated with the PriMadonna gang. Skating had been a big thing in the neighbourhood back then and everybody had wanted to get in on the act, including her, even though she couldn't skate at all. There had been a disagreement a few days earlier with Underworld, a rival gang with a taste for violence and retribution, which nobody had taken seriously at the time.

She remembered that hot, muggy afternoon only too well. She, her friends and the PriMadonnas had been hanging out somewhere in Coburg, enjoying the last rays of sunshine before the sky faded into evening. Dmitri Marovski, a talented young Russian who had joined the gang a few months before and was already tipped to go pro, had been showing off some tricks he'd invented when a couple of Underworld members stepped out of a side alley, gunned him down, and fled the scene. Shot five times in the head and chest, Dmitri had died next to a fire hydrant while his friends struggled to revive him. In tears and horror, she'd looked away as the ambulance pulled up, not wanting to watch them load the boy's body into the back, only to see his skateboard rolling, riderless, down the street, until it was out of sight.

That was the point when everyone started going around armed, and simmering rivalries and local scuffles between rival gangs erupted into months of bloody warfare. She'd ducked out of the scene days later, not wanting to get caught up in gang warfare and possibly killed herself because of some vague affiliation with a group she didn't even rightly belong to.

And then there was Troy McCall, the kid from her class who'd survived the ambush on the Skate Dogs. It had happened about a year on from Dmitri's murder… she'd been on her way home from school when she'd peered past a police cordon and seen him standing helplessly in the street outside the Fairview Motel. His fellow skaters had been stabbed and shot by rivals for no other reason but pride, and lay dead in the street all around him. Unable to cope with the trauma of the incident and the loss of his friends, he'd jumped off the motel roof a week later and left a hole in the world shaped like a chalk outline.

The recollection made her shiver now, but the haunted look in his eyes and his subsequent suicide had shocked her so much that she'd realised she couldn't turn a blind eye to downtown's problems when she was living in the midst of them, and so she'd vowed to become a cop when she grew up, so she could try to protect the people and things she cared about… which brought her straight back to the here and now.

She shook her head, and looked down at her report again. She wasn't entirely sure that what she'd written would still make sense in the morning, but she put the unfinished page in her out-tray nonetheless. She'd sign it off and file it in the morning when there was someone around to read it.

Meanwhile, there was nothing left to keep her here tonight, and Jason would be waiting for her to come home. She hoped he wasn't worried. She should have been home about half an hour ago.

What the hell was she thinking? Jason was probably so deep in the middle of playing whichever was his current video game that he wouldn't even notice her come in. He wouldn't notice if nuclear war broke out while he was gaming, let alone look up from battling virtual dragon-lords and wonder why his sister was slightly late home from work.

Still, she didn't want to give him any reason to worry. She tidied up her desk, put her jacket on and went home.

xxxxxxxxxx

"… _Main Street remains closed while crime scene investigators comb the area around the grocery store for evidence. Demonstrations are planned outside City Hall tomorrow by local anti-gun campaign group Moms Against Violence, with several protests likely to be staged throughout the coming week. The Mayor and several community leaders have appealed for calm. Meanwhile, the Raccoon Police Department have been praised by locals for their swift response to the incident and for managing to safely disarm the lone gunman._"

Jason switched off the television.

"I remember when you used to just, you know, _tell _me how your day was, instead of showing me on the news," he said. "How come you do all this dangerous stuff now? You never used to before."

"Never used to be like this before," said Amber, kicking off her shoes. "Things were quiet when I first joined the force. A few gang scuffles, parking violations, picking up petty criminals… maybe a couple of neighbour disputes, but that was about it. The only time we had anything major was the big bank robbery on Stormtiller Avenue. Remember that?"

Jason laughed.

"Yeah, I remember that! They closed Green Street High for the afternoon so we got out of class early! We all went to the video arcade across the street and played air hockey and _Home Invaders III _till we heard it was safe to go home. It was totally awesome. I wish they'd robbed the bank every day…"

"Jason!"

"What? We had a whole afternoon of math and science. Science is lame. You can't give people electric shocks and you can't blow things up any more. Dad said they used to blow stuff up all the time in chemistry class. All they let us do was write down equations and stuff and maybe turn things purple once in a while. Big deal."

"They probably stopped doing it because they heard you were hitting tenth grade. I guess they wanted the roof to stay on the building."

"Shut up. I never blew anything up. They didn't let me!"

"That's _why_."

"Whatever. But anyway, how come everything's going crazy? What's with all the people shooting people? Shouldn't they be shooting zombies?"

Amber sighed.

"Yeah. They should. I think the guy just got mixed up with who was who. He shot someone who was fooling around pretending to be a zombie."

"Poor guy," said Jason. "I mean, how are you supposed to like, tell who's real and who's pretending? It could have happened to anybody."

"I think it just did," said Amber. "He's probably not the first."

"Probably won't be the last, either."

"Jason, I really wish you were wrong about that. But you're right. I have a feeling we're going to see a lot more cases like this before long…"


	22. Escalation

**22: Escalation**

**Wednesday 16th September, 1998**

When Amber arrived at the precinct that morning, she was met with the sound of a crowd. The parking lot entrance was being blocked by a group of protesters waving banners and chanting slogans. Most of them were middle-aged women, and they seemed to have come from all over the city. What they mostly had in common was their cause, displayed prominently on the placards they were brandishing at a few uncomfortable-looking passers-by:

"_Guns Off Our Streets!"_

"_Stop Gang Warfare Now!"_

"_Stop Killing Our Kids!"_

"_No More Weapons!"_

Within the privacy of her car, Amber groaned.

"Not again…"

Moms Against Violence hadn't always been a nuisance. They'd started out a few years back as a friendly support group for mothers who'd lost children in Raccoon City's gang wars. They'd held lectures about the effects of gang violence on communities and families, and visited downtown schools to show kids how to use non-violent methods to resolve disputes with their peers. Some members had even volunteered at the precinct to help with community outreach work and free gun safety courses, earning them a place in Heaven as far as Amber and the other cops were concerned.

But then, one day, a particularly shrill, militant band of women from uptown had showed up at a meeting and insisted that they stage a group protest under the Moms Against Violence banner, "to make their voices heard". Since then, the interlopers had succeeded in driving away almost the entire original membership with their hardline anti-gun stance and spent most of their time harassing security guards, war veterans, gun stores and even the police for "peddling gun culture to poor, deprived downtown kids".

The organisation had become a real pain in the ass lately. In the past six months, its members had gatecrashed a charity event for sick children, invaded the pitch at three football games, disrupted the Veterans Day parade, had a sit-down protest in the middle of Main Street - just before rush hour - and chained themselves to the police station fence, prompting several hours spent trying to free the angry women with hacksaws and the assistance of the fire department. The most senior group members had already been warned twice about trespassing at the Army base in neighbouring Ferret County, although Amber had heard on the grapevine that they were planning to climb back over the security fence to stage another protest. Jason had heard about this too, and in typical fashion, had commented:

"Hope I'm around to see what happens when they do. Moms Against Violence? They should put that on pay-per-view."

It had been quite hard to keep her face straight long enough to tell him off. Secretly, though, she hoped in a quiet sort of way that they'd get their heads smacked together. They regularly hurled abuse at the police during protests, calling them fascist bullies who oppressed downtown kids. Ironically, they were the same people who screamed for the police whenever those "poor, disadvantaged youngsters" dared to show up in their nice middle-class neighbourhoods. As a result, the downtown kids hated their guts, and more of them than ever now seemed to be swaggering around with guns; she had to wonder, therefore, what the women were really trying to accomplish. It seemed to her that all they'd really done was undo the good work of their predecessors and alienate pretty much everybody else in town.

Oh well. She had to be polite to them, irritating though they were. She tried not to think about how they'd once accused her and Kevin of being responsible for the gang violence in downtown by "strutting around with guns in front of kids", and reminded herself that they probably meant well, deep down, in a muddled kind of way.

"I thought you were protesting outside City Hall?" she said to one of them, leaning out of her window as she pulled up to the parking lot entrance.

The woman broke off from the chanting.

"We moved! The Mayor wasn't listening to us, so we want the Chief to listen instead! We demand that our voices be heard!"

"Well, that's your democratic right, ma'am," said Amber. "Fine by me. But could you move out of the way of the parking lot, please? You're obstructing the area."

"Good!"

"No, ma'am, that's not good," said Amber patiently. "That's what we in the precinct like to call a "fire hazard". You can stay outside the building, but you can't block the street and you can't obstruct any exits."

"Says who?" another protester demanded to know.

"Says a member of the emergency services," Amber said, returning the woman's glare with a cool, steady gaze. "What if your house was burning down and the fire truck couldn't get out of the station? Or what if one of your family was in the back of an ambulance and they needed to get to hospital right away? How would you feel if people were blocking the road ahead and wouldn't move when the paramedics asked them to?"

"Oh," said the woman, her expression changing. "Yeah, I… I guess I see your point."

"But we're still protesting," the other woman butted in. "We will not be moved! Well, kind of!"

"Good for you," said Amber. "I admire your dedication. Now please can you both move aside? I want to park my car so I can go to work."

They nodded, and moved aside. However, the sound of more commotion coming from the opposite end of the street, and Amber turned around to see what was going on.

A small band of young and young-ish women were approaching, placards in hands. Two of them were carrying an inexpertly-painted banner which read "Single Moms with Guns", and they didn't look at all happy to see that the other group were already in position.

"What on earth are you people doing here?" a young woman in a minidress complained, from the group of newcomers.

"Yeah, this is our spot! You're supposed to be at City Hall!" shouted a mumsy-looking woman.

Amber raised her eyebrows. She hadn't heard of Single Moms with Guns before, but recalled something about the Chief's planned "Toys for Guns" drive being cancelled over spring break. She and Joseph had been away on vacation at the time, but she'd heard later that the Chief had been forced to cave in and donate the toys to the city orphanage instead, because the protesters had threatened to camp outside permanently if he didn't. She wondered if this was the group responsible for the Chief's unusual change of heart.

_Hmm. Looks like things are getting interesting. Damn it, it's too early in the morning for interesting. I haven't even had any coffee yet. Please don't let them start fighting…_

"You _knew _we were coming here!" a third woman said accusingly, brandishing her placard. "Why are you here in our spot?"

One of the Moms Against Violence, a buxom woman in jeans and a polka-dot blouse, puffed up her chest.

"We're exercising our democratic right to protest," she said haughtily.

"Well, so are we," said the woman in the minidress, scowling. "We're here to support Second Amendment rights for our citizens! This city is being stalked by serial killers and you're trying to take away our right to defend ourselves! That's an outrage!"

"Our city's children are dying because of guns!" yelled the Mom Against Violence.

"You have no moral or legal right to take away our guns!" the Single Mom yelled back, shaking her fist. "We use our guns to protect our families!"

"The police are here to protect your families!"

"How are they going to do that when you want to take away their guns too?"

"They don't need guns! They can protect us without them, like they do in other countries!"

"Oh yeah? Then why are people all over the city being killed by those cannibal maniacs? What are they supposed to do, bite them back?"

"At least we're not trying to take justice into our own hands!"

"At least _we're _not trying to take away people's constitutional rights! American citizens have the right to bear arms!"

"That doesn't mean they should!"

"Who the hell are you to decide that?"

"… well, we don't believe in killing children!"

"Neither do we! We're trying to keep ours safe! You're just going to get _everyone's _kids killed with your stupid protests!"

Incensed, the woman in the polka-dot blouse tried to take a swing at the woman in the minidress, and a scuffle broke out. Amber promptly leapt out of her car and moved to separate them.

"Hey! Hey! Enough already! I thought you were supposed to be against violence," she told the fuming woman in the polka-dot blouse as she tried to hold her back.

"See?" said the woman in the minidress triumphantly, pointing at her rival. "You people are such hypocrites."

"Yeah, and you care so much about your precious family values that you're a single mom, huh? What, the shotgun wedding didn't work out for you?" retorted the woman in the polka-dot blouse.

The woman in the minidress gave a cry and lunged forward.

"Why, you - !"

"Now that's enough!" said Amber, moving again to keep them apart. "Both of you! Look, I don't know or care who's in the right here, but what I do know is that this is coming dangerously close to disorderly conduct. I'm going to have to ask you all to disperse quietly and go back to your homes! Or at least stop trying to hit each other!"

"But she - "

"She - "

"Enough!" said Amber, raising her voice. "Look, regardless of anyone's personal feelings on the matter, the people of this city are allowed to carry guns, provided they have the appropriate permits and they aren't used to commit criminal acts. However, the RPD respects the right to peaceful protest and condemns the use of violence against anybody in this town. Weapons used to commit crimes _will _be taken off the streets, along with the perpetrators! Now I hope that covers all bases, because I'm not interested in taking sides. If you're looking for someone to arbitrate, then take it down to City Hall. I'm just here to keep the peace. Got it?"

This was followed by some reluctant nodding.

"Good. Now please vacate the area. Like I said already, you're causing an obstruction which could put lives at risk in an emergency. If you really have to carry on protesting against each other, go and do it somewhere else. _Peacefully_."

With some murmuring and the occasional resentful glance at each other, the two groups headed off in opposite directions. Amber heard the chanting begin again as they disappeared from view, but that appeared to be the end of that.

"Single Moms with Guns… now I've heard it all."

She drove down into the parking lot, still shaking her head and wondering why there were things on which people just couldn't agree. With the city in crisis, she would have imagined that people would have joined forces and put their differences aside to protect their communities. Instead they all seemed divided, frightened and angry. Unfortunately, this wasn't likely to change any time soon.

She had a nasty feeling that she hadn't seen the worst of human nature just yet, and that she was just about to find out how much worse things would get…

xxxxxxxxxx

"Hey, Amber, you're late!" said Marvin, looking up from his desk.

Amber grimaced, and explained why. Marvin and the others all burst out laughing when she finished.

"Trust you to get stuck in a situation like that!" said Tim.

"Single Moms with Guns, huh?" said Kevin thoughtfully. "Do you think they have a campaign headquarters?"

"Screw the headquarters, I want to know if they've got a _calendar_!" said someone else.

There was more laughter in the office.

"Nice work, though," said Kevin, when it subsided. "For resolving the situation, I mean. We've got enough problems to deal with without people blocking the way in and out of this place."

"So what's the game plan for today?" said Amber.

Kevin cracked his knuckles.

"Looks like most of us are on extra patrols again," he said. "The incident levels are just going up and up in downtown. It's like everyone's going nuts out there."

"Yeah, we've got a lot of assaults and frayed tempers out there right now, so it's up to us to keep the peace and help everyone settle down," said Marvin. "People are getting scared. We have to show them that we're in control of the situation and that we're going to keep a lid on this kind of behaviour."

"But we're not," said Tim, shaking his head. "Uptown's still pretty quiet but things are getting out of hand everywhere else. We've already run out of room in the cells and the calls are still coming in. People are scared, Marv."

"I know, but we've got to try and keep everybody calm," said Marvin. "We can't just give up on the situation, or things really will get out of control. I know we're a little short on numbers, but we've got some new guys starting here soon, and that'll help us to get a firmer grip on things. Until then, we're going to keep patrolling the streets, do our best to reassure people, and keep everybody safe, as best we can. Like we signed up for. Anybody got any questions?"

"Yeah, did anyone bring in any doughnuts yet?" said Fulham, raising his hand.

"Very funny, Fulham. Come on everyone, let's get to work. We all know what we've got on the patrol rosters today. Everyone who's supposed to be outside, get out there and protect and serve. Everyone who's supposed to be in here, get to work. We're too busy to stand around doing nothing."

"Hey, I wasn't kidding," said Fulham plaintively, as everyone dispersed. "When are the doughnuts coming in today?"

However, he was ignored in the hustle and bustle of incoming and outgoing police officers. There was a flurry of equipment being put on, then, before she knew it, Amber found herself in the front of Rita's patrol car.

"This is crazy," she said, as they left the parking lot and drove out towards Fairview. "I'm meant to be at a disciplinary hearing in less than a fortnight. I shouldn't be out on patrol. I shouldn't be at the _precinct_. And yet somehow I keep getting sent out to deal with exactly the kind of stuff I'm told to stay well out of, at the same time I'm being told to keep my head down. How do they expect me to stay out of trouble when they keep sending me back out into the fray all the time?"

"I know it's insane, but we don't have the luxury of being able to keep people off active duty," said Rita. "We need absolutely everybody on the streets right now."

"I know, but… oh, hell, I don't think I do know any more. But something's very badly wrong with this picture. Procedure seems to have gone to hell and taken the rest of the world with it."

"Tell me about it, hon. I don't think I've slept all week. What's gone wrong with this town lately?"

They passed an apartment block with an ambulance parked outside. Amber noticed a stretcher being loaded down the front steps of the building, with someone covered in blood strapped tightly to it. She turned her head to try and get a better look, but Rita had already turned the corner. Within seconds, the street was out of sight.

"Did you see that?" she said, turning to Rita.

"I know," said Rita. "Poor guy. Looked nasty, whatever happened to him. I hope he'll be okay."

"Wish we were on foot patrol today," said Amber. "I feel like we should check it out."

"Me too, but right now I don't think we've got the time to spare," said Rita. "Car patrols will cover a larger area, and faster."

Amber nodded. This was true. With their numbers stretched so thin across a suddenly turbulent city, they needed all the time-saving facilities they could get, although she hated missing the small details you picked up on foot patrol. She always got the feeling that she might miss something important, or pass by someone in need of help without even realising it.

"So where are we headed?" she asked.

"We're going to make a circuit around Green Street High and the Fairview Motel area," said Rita. "We've had a lot of reports about disorder up here in the past couple of days. Marvin thought it would be a good idea to keep a close eye on this part of town. If it spreads across the river to Newbury and St James East, we're going to have problems. We've already got too many officers keeping things in check down in Masefield Park and Little Estonia, without the whole eastern half of the city ending up on fire."

"How are things in Little Estonia? I haven't been down there for a while," said Amber.

"Not good," said Rita sadly. "It's usually a quiet part of town, which I always thought was strange, given how it's right next to Masefield Park and all, but there's been a whole bunch of trouble there lately. Assaults are _way _up and we're starting to run into vigilante groups out there. A bunch of the residents have complained how we haven't been able to find the cannibal killers, so they've started going out looking for them themselves. Someone actually got beaten to death out there last night."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I know. Gang of people out roaming thought he looked suspicious and he couldn't account for himself, so they went to town on his ass. By the time we got there, they'd already thrown him in the river. Bob had to wade in and fish him out from that swampy part at the bottom of the riverbank."

"Ouch," said Amber. "I feel sorry for Bob. He's only a kid and he always seems to end up with the nasty stuff."

"He was real nice about it, though," said Rita. "He said it was a damn shame, 'cause it used to be a safe neighbourhood. Very community-spirited. Said people there used to do their own policing half the time. Now they're still policing the streets, except people are getting killed instead of handed over to the cops. You know what, Amber, I just don't know what's happening to this city."

Amber knew only too well, but opted not to comment.

"I mean, it used to be so nice," said Rita, sighing. "I moved here with my folks a couple of years ago, from down South, and people came over the very next day to welcome us to the neighbourhood. Baked us pies and everything. Couldn't have been sweeter to us. And now all this is happening. This poor little town doesn't deserve all this trouble."

"Won't argue there," said Amber. "Although it's not the first time there's been trouble here. There was all the gang violence between the skater factions, about ten years back. Did anyone ever tell you about what happened at the Fairview Motel?"

Rita said no, they hadn't, and her mouth dropped open in horror as Amber told her about the gang massacre outside, and Troy McCall's subsequent, fatal jump from the roof the following week.

"Those poor kids," she said at last, almost in tears. "How horrible. And everybody in Fairview seems so nice and down to earth. Not the best neighbourhood in town, you know, but the people are real friendly nonetheless. Real kind. And that happened there?"

"I'm afraid so," said Amber. "I saw it on my way home from school."

"Oh, that's just awful," said Rita. "And you were only a kid when you saw that? You must have had such dreadful nightmares afterward!"

"One or two," Amber admitted.

In fact, she'd had one about that very incident just last night, for the first time in years. She'd seen the bloodshed of the closed-off street once more, through the police barriers, and then it had been a week later and she'd been standing on the motel roof with Troy. He'd grabbed her hand as he jumped and pulled her down after him, smiling down at his own oblivion. She'd screamed all the way down, looking down helplessly at the upcoming asphalt and knowing beyond doubt that she wouldn't survive the fall. She'd felt herself slam face-first, full force, into the road - and then woke, still screaming hysterically, in the middle of her bed, with the sheets soaked in cold sweat.

Rita placed her hand comfortingly on top of Amber's.

"You poor thing," she said softly. "You've been through so much. Gang violence growing up, then losing Joseph and your friends, and now all this. You're one heck of a strong lady, Amber."

"Not really."

"Stronger than I'd be in your shoes," said Rita, lifting her hand again to adjust the rear view mirror. "I don't think I'd be able to survive all that."

"You might have to be," said Amber.

Rita looked at her in astonishment.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

She hadn't realised that she'd said it out loud. She'd been thinking it, but hadn't meant it to come out. Suddenly flustered, she tried to think of a way to qualify the statement.

"Well, there's… more trouble on the way, I think," she said, feeling foolish. "Like, a lot more. I think things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better. You might have to be strong if we're going to get through this intact."

Rita was still staring at her.

"Uh, tree," said Amber helpfully, pointing to the road ahead.

"What?" said Rita, momentarily confused, then she looked ahead, gave a cry and slammed her foot on the brake pedal.

The car pulled up just short of a maple tree on the corner of the street.

"Damn!" cried Rita, as some falling leaves landed quietly on the windshield. "I'm so sorry, Amber, I should have been paying more attention. I don't know what's up with me today! Not like me to do something like that…"

"What's up? You okay?"

"I'm wondering if maybe you're right," said Rita, with an uncharacteristic frown passing across her pretty features. "I'm starting to worry that maybe things are taking a turn for the worse. But I'm sure they'll get better again. I mean, of course they will, eventually."

She looked at Amber again.

"Won't they?"

She suddenly looked younger, more helpless; almost childlike in her worried innocence. Amber almost wanted to give her a hug, and tell her everything was going to be all right. Except it would be a lie. It wasn't.

"I hope so," said Amber, now feeling like the helpless one.

"Me too," said Rita, starting up the car again and reversing away from the tree, then turning into the street on the right. "I love Raccoon City. I don't want anything bad to happen to it."

"Me neither," said Amber.

"Well, then I guess we'll all just have to work extra hard to protect it," said Rita, cheering up slightly. "Got to look after the things we love, right?"

Amber nodded soberly, watching as the leaves blew off the windshield and landed on the road behind them, one by one.

They were in Fairview now, rolling past streets of brownstone apartment blocks, seedy-looking motels and some dilapidated storefronts. Some were boarded up; some looked close to closure, like the video rental store, which had already changed hands numerous times in the past few years. Others, however, like the mini-mart and the dime store, seemed to be doing a brisk trade, and there were a couple of greasy-spoon diners and grocery stores which were clearly there to stay.

As they passed a video arcade and a rather dingy pet store on the right, Amber saw her old high school come into view, and smiled.

"That's my old school," she said. "Green Street High. Jason and I both went there."

"Oh really? What was it like there?" said Rita, as they approached. "Good school?"

Amber nodded. Despite being in one of the city's poorest neighbourhoods, Green Street High was a good school. The students were mostly inner-city kids, living in poverty and often from broken homes or troubled backgrounds, but they all knew that the only thing that would give them a better life was to do well at school. They were fiercely competitive - a force to be reckoned with, both in the exam room and on the sports field - but collectively so, helping their fellow students rather than throwing them to the wolves. It might have seemed a surprising approach to some, but the first lesson downtown kids learned was that life was tough, and their best chance of survival was to band together and look out for each other. They respected their teachers, too, with good cause; they were the most dedicated, caring people she'd met, determined to make the most of their scant resources and give their students the best possible odds of success.

The school building itself was pretty crowded and shabby-looking, especially when you compared it to its counterparts on the west side of the city. Raccoon City High was the uptown state school of choice, full of smart middle-class kids from prosperous Winterton, and the expensive Catholic school in Coburg was favoured by anxious downtown parents who wanted to keep their kids out of trouble and close to home. Academically, however, Green Street High punched above its weight and while it wasn't a perfect school, it had been good enough for Amber and Jason, whose parents had wanted them to learn the importance of hard work and perseverance.

It was certainly better - by far - than the alternative, Grover Cleveland High in Masefield Park, where stab vests were part of the school uniform and the teachers all had panic buttons under their desks. Kevin had told her a few months back that he'd been called out to Grover Cleveland High with Marvin and David to deal with a violent incident between two gangs of pupils. To their astonishment, they'd discovered that the teachers were so afraid of their vicious, semi-feral young charges that they'd blockaded themselves inside the school cafeteria for their own safety. Kevin had said he'd gone home that day feeling kind of sorry for the few good kids who were stuck there, but mostly just relieved he'd managed to escape their fate.

She didn't blame him. She was still thanking her parents and lucky stars for not having to go there. What would have happened to her if her parents had decided that the nearest school would do? What if she'd ended up as one of the sulky, belligerent little fiends who smashed up their classrooms and chased their shrieking teachers through the corridors with baseball bats and pilfered tools from woodshop class? She could only wonder what she -

There was a scream from somewhere up above, accompanied by a shower of glass. Before Amber could even open her mouth to shout out a warning, Rita yelled and slammed on the brakes.

She was half a second too late. The body slammed into the windshield in a terrible crunch of broken bones and broken glass. As the car screeched to a complete stop, throwing Amber and Rita forward in their seats, their unexpected passenger rolled back off the hood of the patrol car and hit the tarmac, leaving behind a web of cracks on the windshield and a smear of blood where the side of his head had struck the glass.

"Holy Mother of Mercy!" Rita exclaimed.

They clambered out of the damaged patrol car and examined the body. To their surprise, the man was still alive, but out cold and bleeding. He was middle-aged, slightly built for his height, with dishevelled hair shaded somewhere in between blond and grey. There was blood on his shirt, face and on the cuff of his worn tweed jacket. A shattered pair of glasses lay a few feet from the spot where he'd landed.

"What happened?" said Amber. "Did we hit him?"

"No," said Rita shakily. "I think he hit us…"

Amber followed Rita's gaze up to the windows of the tall brown-brick school building. One of the third-floor windows - which in her day had been part of the chemistry lab - was smashed. She could just about see a couple of horrified faces peering out through the broken frame.

"Did he jump, or did he fall out?" said Amber. "I'm not sure."

"I don't know, I didn't see it either," said Rita, leaning back into the patrol car and grabbing her radio. "I'm not sure what - hey, uh, Control? This is Officer Willcox, I'm outside Green Street High School in Fairview. There's been a fall from an upper-storey window and we need an ambulance over here right away. Over."

"_Copy that, Willcox,_" crackled the radio. "_Do you require backup at this time_?"

"Not at this time, Control. We're investigating the cause of the incident but we'll keep you posted. Willcox out."

"_Copy that. Over and out._"

There were a few brief snatches of chatter over the CB radio, and then it fell silent.

Amber looked up from the teacher's unconscious form and stared at the broken window. That must have been the one he'd fallen from. But surely he couldn't have landed this far out in the road if he'd simply taken a bad step and toppled out of the window?

There was something amiss with what had happened here. She didn't know what it was, but it was screaming at her.

"Something's up," she told Rita. "You stay here with the vic till the ambulance gets here. I'm going to check out the school, see what happened up there. Something about this feels wrong. Very wrong."

xxxxxxxxxx

Opening the doors of her old school was like stepping back through time. The place looked exactly the way it did on the day she'd graduated. The same battered lockers lined the walls of the main corridor. The floors still smelled like bleach. Even the faded "inspirational" posters on the corridor walls were the ones she'd walked past every day. One of the leaping motivational dolphins still had the moustache and glasses that one of her fellow ninth-graders had added out of boredom while they waited outside the French teacher's classroom.

Amber breathed in, trying to calm her jangling nerves. It felt so strange, being here after all this time. Her badge and uniform should have ben a comforting reminder that she was an adult, but she felt, suddenly, like a kid playing pretend in some borrowed costume. It was as though by stepping through those doors and breathing in the familiar smell of chalk, paint, pencil shavings, old sneakers and library books, all those protective layers of adulthood which she'd built up around her awkward teenage self had been suddenly shorn away. She felt fifteen again; gawky, embarrassed, too tall, too clumsy, ignored by the cool students, and dreading the wrath of Mr Bachman, her tyrannical Math teacher, when he found out she hadn't finished her homework assignment.

She swallowed, and tried to remind herself that she was twenty-four now. She didn't have to hand in Math homework, gym class was no longer compulsory, and nobody was going to yell at her for not having a hall pass. It worked, but only slightly. The lingering memory of old childhood routines was still saying she should have been lining up for her next class right about now.

A couple of students were standing next to the water fountain and they stared as she passed - not hostile, just inquisitive and a little wary, perhaps wondering what they or their classmates might have done to warrant police attention. Was it because they'd pranged a fire hydrant with the new car, or skipped classes, or sneaked a few underage drinks at a house party?

Of course they were staring. She would too, if she'd seen a police officer walk into school at their age. High school wasn't the kind of place where you expected to see the police. Teachers and parents were the ones who dealt with wrongdoing, unless you'd done something really, really bad…

She went upstairs, unwittingly shuddering as she passed what had been Mr Bachman's classroom, and turned the corner. In front of her was the principal's office, but the door was wide open, and there was nobody sitting at the desk. It looked as though word had spread about the incident upstairs.

She could hear the buzz of nervous voices as she returned to the stairwell and went up to the third floor. She followed the flow of students to the classroom which was still presumably the chemistry lab, and nudged a couple of them aside so she could open the door.

She was met with the sight of overturned chairs and tables, shocked eighth-grade students and a few shards of glass on the floor below the broken window. The school principal, Mrs Schulster, a blonde woman now in her early fifties, was kneeling next to a distressed-looking girl with long brown pigtails. The girl was sitting on the floor, hanging onto the woman's arm and sobbing as she tried to speak.

"Excuse me," said Amber.

The whole room turned to look at her. The girl gave a shriek and burst into a torrent of fresh sobs, clutching the principal's arm even more tightly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Principal Schulster," said Amber. "Lieutenant Bernstein, Raccoon Police Department. I was hoping to speak with you for a moment. It's about the incident which took place outside a few minutes ago."

The principal stood up, gently releasing the grip of the girl who was hanging onto her forearm.

"Of course," she said. "I'll be right back, kids. Stay where you are. Don't touch anything."

A couple of the students shook their heads. Mrs Schulster nodded, and followed Amber to the corridor outside.

"All right, everyone, return to your classrooms immediately," she ordered the crowd that was starting to gather outside. "Go on, shoo. You all have classes to go back to."

Some of the students grumbled as they dispersed, but others looked curiously, craning their necks at the door of the science lab, before going back downstairs and to the other classrooms on the floor. Within moments, Amber and the principal were alone in the hallway.

"So what happened here?" Amber asked her.

To her surprise, the woman started to cry. She'd seemed surprisingly composed up until now, and it was a shock to see her calm demeanour dissolve without any warning at all.

"Poor Mr Henkel… he's only been with us a few months! This is just too awful!"

"Please try to stay calm, Mrs Schulster. Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning."

The principal dabbed some of her tears away with a much-folded tissue, and did her best to explain. Apparently she hadn't seen much, but had been heading upstairs to investigate the commotion she'd heard, just in time to see the teacher tumbling backwards out of the window and into the street.

"… I wish I could tell you more, but I didn't really see what happened before that. You'll need to talk to the students about exactly what took place. But I think I should call their parents first. They may want legal representatives to be here to protect the children's interests."

Amber raised her eyebrows.

"Why? What did they do?"

"As far as I can tell, nothing," said Mrs Schulster, starting to cry again. "They said he went crazy and attacked one of the students! They said they tried to push him away, and he stumbled backwards against the window, but it gave way, and… oh, my, I just can't believe this has happened. I know this neighbourhood's gone through some tough times, but we've never had any trouble in our school before!"

"Do you mind if I talk to some of the students?" said Amber.

The principal looked alarmed.

"Well, I …"

"Mrs Schulster, if this was just an accident, then none of your students will be in trouble over this," Amber assured her. "All we need to know is what happened. If this does turn out to be something more serious, then we need to find out what took place here. If your students are correct and they were attacked in their own classroom, then we need to ensure that they're safe from harm. As I'm sure you're aware, assault on a minor is a serious crime and any allegations would need to be fully investigated."

"What will their parents - ?"

"Mrs Schulster, if it makes you any happier, you can go and contact the kids' parents and I'll wait for you to come back. After that, you're more than welcome to remain present while I ask the students a few questions. In fact, that's a good idea. Having someone they know and trust in the room will help calm them down and make things easier on them. If any of the questions or answers you hear give you any cause for concern, then you can ask me to stop at any time. Okay?"

Principal Schulster seemed to waver between the options for a moment, looking uncertain, but then she nodded.

"All right. I'll be right back…"

She hurried away, heading downstairs to her office. Amber waited until she'd gone, then went back inside the classroom.

The students were still staring in dread at the broken window. Most looked petrified. One or two were crying quietly. The girl in the middle of the floor was still sobbing. One of the boys had gone to sit beside her and was trying to hold her hand.

"Lily, it's gonna be okay," he kept telling her. "You aren't gonna go to jail. He attacked you, right? Everybody knows that's self-defence! It's not like you went to push him straight out of the - "

He stopped dead as he looked up and saw Amber. He glanced back at the girl, then cast another suspicious glance upwards.

"It's all right," said Amber. "You don't need to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you," said the boy sullenly.

"Good. You don't have to be. I'm here to help."

"Yeah, right."

"Believe it or not, I am."

"Yeah?" he said, with a resentful stare. "And where were you when the Skate Dogs bought it? Where were you when Underworld killed them?"

Amber had wondered why he sounded so angry.

"Here, as a matter of fact," she answered. "Sitting… I'd say about two rows from where you are now."

The boy looked genuinely startled at this.

"You were in the eighth grade too? So was Ruby…"

The name jogged a memory. A red-haired girl, fearless and confident, who used to wear an old military surplus jacket with the Skate Dogs emblem sewn on one sleeve. She'd collected baseball cards and used to chew gum in class, and everyone thought she and Troy McCall would get married one day, because they'd been inseparable since early childhood.

"You mean Ruby Delson?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. That was her."

"I knew her," said Amber. "She was a nice girl."

"She was my cousin," said the boy, looking down at the floor. "I never knew her. I was three when she died."

"What's your name?"

"Jasper. Jasper Delson."

"And this is Lily?" she said, turning to the girl.

The girl nodded, sniffling.

"Yeah. Lily Santangelo."

"Lieutenant Bernstein. Nice to meet you."

Lily nodded, and extended a shaking hand. Amber shook it gently. She turned to Jasper, but he didn't take her outstretched hand. Instead he watched her, glowering all the while, until she finally gave up and withdrew it.

Amber decided to try a different method of approach.

"You know, Jasper," she said, sitting down beside them. "What happened to your cousin and her friends hit me pretty hard. They were my friends too. They were the reason I became a cop. I wanted to stop what was happening in downtown and protect people from getting hurt like they did."

"Why? The cops didn't protect my cousin," said the kid indignantly. "Why would you be any different?"

"Stop it, Jasper," said Lily, still crying. "Leave her alone. Even your aunt said the cops couldn't have saved Ruby. If she's not mad with them, why are you?"

Amber sighed.

"I don't really know what else to tell you," she said. "We do our best to keep people safe. Sometimes our best isn't good enough, but we never stop trying. We want this town to be a safe place for kids like you to grow up in."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Jasper, cut it out!" said another boy, who was standing at the back of the class. "What are you trying to do, provoke her?"

"Provoke me? Into what?" said Amber.

"Taking Lily away," the boy mumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"Benny, shut up! Don't tell her anything, you snitch!" Jasper yelled at him, before the other boy could answer. "You want us all to go to jail? Huh?"

"I don't want them to take me away!" sobbed Lily. "I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident!"

Amber was about to open her mouth when the principal returned.

"All right, Lieutenant, I've asked my secretary to call the students' parents," she said. "They should be on their way soon. Did you still want to ask the kids some questions?"

"What the hell?" complained one of the kids at the back.

"You called our parents?"

"Oh my God, my parents! They're going to kill me," Lily moaned.

Amber inhaled deeply.

"Okay," she said, taking her notebook and pen from her pocket. "We'll start at the beginning. I understand from what your principal has told me that one of you was attacked by your teacher. Can anyone tell me what happened?"

A couple of the students looked at each other uneasily. It looked for a minute as though none of them would talk, but then someone spoke up. To her mild surprise, it was Lily.

"It was Mr Henkel," she began, wiping her eyes roughly on the back of her hand. "I don't know what was wrong with him. Usually he's real nice, but today… it happened when Jasper asked him a question. He'd been acting weird all morning."

"How do you mean, weird?"

Lily looked up. Her eyes were red and sore, and her face was blotchy from crying.

"He just seemed all… short-tempered. And kinda edgy," she said. "He kept scratching his wrist, saying he was hungry. Looking round the room all the time. Stuff like that. He didn't sound right, either. Usually he's always using long words and stuff. But today he sounded all slow and slurry. Didn't talk as much as he usually does. It was almost like he was having a hard time thinking straight."

Amber felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, one by one. She'd left Rita alone outside with the guy. Was she all right?

"Do you think he might have been drinking?" she ventured.

Oh, she hoped against hope and all her instincts that he was the kind of teacher who kept a bottle of gin in the bottom drawer of his desk. She wished with all her heart that some wretched set of personal circumstances had driven him to think he needed to drink just to get through the day. She hated to hope that he might be trying to escape some kind of private misfortune by knocking back the hard stuff during school hours, but when faced with the alternative, finding that he was over the limit to walk, let alone drive, would be such a relief.

Her heart plummeted when Lily shook her head.

"No. He didn't smell like drink or anything. I can tell when people are drunk. My dad drinks."

Amber made what she hoped was a sympathetic face, but didn't pursue the topic further. She didn't want to risk changing the subject and possibly wasting time. She kept scribbling notes, as fast as she could, so she could get this over with. She kept thinking of Rita, and teeth, and screaming.

"So what happened when Jasper asked him a question? Did he ask him something that might have made him mad?" she said.

"No," said Lily, looking shocked. "No way. All he asked him was when our next homework assignment was due in. He kind of got up out of his seat and started walking down the room, then when he got to Jasper's desk, he just - "

She broke off.

"He went _completely _crazy," said Jasper, cutting in. "Like, apeshit crazy. He started snarling at me and trying to grab my arm, pulling me up like he was making to bite me on the shoulder or something."

Lily started to shake.

"It's all right," said Amber, putting a hand on the girl's back. "You're safe here. Nobody's going to hurt you. Jasper, did Mr Henkel actually bite you? Did he harm you in any way?"

"Nuh-uh," the boy said defiantly. "I didn't let him, even when he hauled me right out of my seat. I was trying to push him off of me, except I slipped on the floor and knocked my head against the desk when I fell. I got a couple of bruises, but I'm okay."

"What happened then?"

"Benny and a couple of the others came over to help," said Jasper. "They picked me up off the floor and then when Mr Henkel tried to make a grab for me again, Mick and Brandon picked up their chairs and fought him off."

Two of the the other boys nodded their heads in agreement.

"Yeah, he was going nuts," said one of them. "He kept snarling and trying to make grabs for people, but I hit him with my chair a couple of times, so he couldn't get to them. I didn't want to but I was worried he was going to really hurt somebody, you know? I've never seen anyone freak out the way he did."

"Me either," the boy next to him agreed. "Who the hell tries to bite people for no reason?"

Amber didn't like the way this story was going. It wasn't the veracity that bothered her; it was the way everything seemed to ring a little too true. The students seemed genuinely shaken and the scattered furniture told its own story. There were scuff marks on the floor and fallen books and papers where desks had been knocked aside, amongst several other signs of struggle.

"So nobody did anything in class that might have provoked Mr Henkel? Nothing at all?" she said out loud.

They all shook their heads.

"No," said Lily. "Nothing. It was like he was acting kind of weird one moment, and then the next, he just totally flipped out and started attacking people. After we fought him off, he let go of Jasper, but then he turned around and went straight for me."

"What happened then?"

Lily started to cry again.

"He grabbed me by the shoulders and he tried to - I think he was trying to take a bite out of my neck," she said. "He was clawing at me, and snarling… I kept telling him to stop and leave me alone, but he wouldn't! It was like he'd totally gone nuts… he just kept coming at me!"

"Are you hurt? Did he bite you, or injure you at all?"

"He was trying to bite me, but no, he didn't. Aiden, Jasper and Kayleigh-Beth managed to get him off me for a couple of seconds. I tried to run towards the door to get help, but then he broke free and grabbed me again."

"How close to the door were you?" asked Amber. "Can you show me about where in the room you were when this happened?"

"S-sure," said Lily. She got up from the floor and took a couple of paces towards the door, then turned around. She was facing half towards Amber, half towards the broken window.

"About here," she said.

Amber drew a rough floor plan of the room next to her scribbled notes, and marked Lily's approximate location with an X.

"Right there?" she said, showing her the notebook and pointing to the X.

Lily nodded vigorously.

"Yeah. Right there."

"Okay, so then what happened?"

"He was holding me really tight and trying to bite the top of my head, and I was trying to push him away as hard as I could. The friggin' weirdo," she said shakily. "I was totally freaked-out and panicking, but I managed to pull away from him somehow, then I pushed him away from me like this - "

She demonstrated, giving a sharp two-handed push to an empty patch of air.

"- just to get him away from me. He was snarling and lunging at me the whole time. I thought he was going to really hurt me."

"What then?" said Amber.

"I only pushed him towards the wall, but he sort of teetered backwards a few steps," she said. "I think I must have caught him off-balance, because he staggered back, and - and I'm not sure what happened next, it all happened so fast… it was like, one minute he was there, but then he fell backwards and hit the window and the glass… the glass…"

Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor.

"Oh my God, I just killed my teacher," she sobbed. "What am I going to do? I'm going to go to jail for like a hundred years! I didn't mean to push him out of the window! I just wanted him to let go of me!"

"All right, enough questions," said Jasper roughly.

He went over and helped Lily up from the floor, then hugged her.

"It's okay, Lily… you're all right," he told the girl. "Nobody's gonna hurt you, and I won't let them take you away. I promise, okay? You aren't going to go to jail."

"It was like he just went insane," said Lily, almost to herself, weeping between her words. "I was just trying to get him away from me, but the glass gave way and - and h-he fell straight out! Oh my God, I never meant to hurt him!"

Jasper looked up and glared at Amber, as though it was all her fault that his friend was upset.

"All right, don't you ask her any more questions, cop," he said. "You've upset her enough already."

"Sentiment's appreciated, kid, but I'm the one in charge here," Amber reminded him, and she got to her feet. "As it happens, I don't have any further questions, at least for now. We're going to send a couple more officers to investigate and gather some evidence to see if it lines up with what you've told us. We may have some further questions for you later, but that's it for now. As for your teacher, well, he's sustained some serious injuries, but he's alive. An ambulance should be with him right about now."

Lily gasped with relief.

"Oh, thank God. Is he going to be okay?"

"That I can't say, because I don't know. But the doctors will do all they can to help him recover, and I'm sure he'll receive the best possible care in hospital."

Lily rushed over and threw her arms around Amber's waist, much to her surprise.

"Thank you, officer," she said. "I thought you were going to arrest everybody or something! We didn't mean to hurt Mr Henkel, he's a good teacher and I think there must have been something really wrong with him, to make him act the way he did. None of us wanted anything bad to happen to him. It was just an accident. I hope he's going to be okay…"

"Hey, don't hug me yet, this isn't over," said Amber, stepping back. "We still need to investigate further and we might need to call you back in for questioning later. Once we know more about what happened here, we'll make a decision on what'll happen next. Until then, we're going to release you all to your parents and make sure Mr Henkel gets proper medical attention."

xxxxxxxxxx

"_No running in the corridors!"_

She'd heard that plenty of times at school. But Amber ran down the stairs and corridors nevertheless, hoping that nothing untoward had happened to her colleague while she'd been stuck upstairs talking to a bunch of frightened fourteen-year olds.

As it turned out, Rita was fine. She was watching the hapless teacher, now semi-conscious and almost insensible with pain, being carried on a stretcher towards an ambulance, which was parked right up alongside the school.

"How's he doing?" said Amber, hurrying down the front steps to join her at the curb.

"Well, put it this way, I think he's had better days at work," said Rita. "The medics said he's got concussion, two broken legs, multiple lacerations and a possible back injury. They've strapped him to a spinal board and they're going to take him in now. His name's Tom, by the way. Tom Henkel. Teaches chemistry. He managed to say a couple of words."

"Did he mention something about being hungry? Or itchy?" said Amber, peering around her fellow officer as the ambulance crew hustled their patient past and started to lift him up into the back of the vehicle.

"Uh, what? No," said Rita, frowning. "No, he didn't mention anything about being hungry. Didn't say a whole lot about what happened to him. All he could say was his name and the class he taught."

It seemed that they weren't going to get any kind of explanation out of the groaning teacher. Amber, however, didn't need one. She'd just caught a glimpse of the man's face and it had confirmed her worst fears. His skin looked pale and unpleasantly clammy, and there was a mad kind of gleam in his eyes, as though something behind them had stopped working properly. It chilled her to think this was just the first sign of the illness that was consuming him from within; from what Jill had told her, and what she'd seen of zombies, there was much worse still to come for poor Mr Henkel.

Minutes later, students began to leave the building in droves and one of the teachers came out to meet her and Rita. According to the teacher, they'd received word from the superintendent that Green Street High was going to be closed for the rest of the day while the police investigated further.

Amber watched the stunned students heading for home in all directions, and privately wondered how many of them, too, might be infected without even realising it. Little ticking time-bombs, spreading out right across the neighbourhood, carrying the infection with them to houses and apartment blocks in every street…

She didn't have time to ponder this any further, however. Another call came in as they got back in their patrol car, and before she could even ask what was going on, she and Rita were leaving Fairview behind and on their way to Raccoon City General Hospital, right across the city in Haines.

"Shouldn't we at least go back for a new car? This one's pretty beat-up."

"No, there's no time for that! We have to go!"

On arrival, they discovered that a member of staff had been attacked by a patient who was believed to have been suffering from some kind of rabid infection. It was immediately clear to Amber, from the babbling intern's description and the blood seeping from the nurse's neck wounds, that it was another zombie-related attack, but yet again she couldn't say so. How could she? Nobody even knew what the T-Virus was, and nobody would believe her if she tried to explain. All she could do was go through the motions of investigating and talking to witnesses and victims, feeling utterly helpless and out of control.

By the time they returned to the precinct and turned their battered patrol car over to a startled-looking mechanic, it was already well past lunchtime, but hunger wasn't the only thing starting to gnaw away at Amber's insides.

She should be saying something. Doing something. She could be warning people right now, telling them to be vigilant and prepared for trouble, so they could at least have a chance of defending themselves from the approaching threat. She knew they wouldn't believe her - why would they? Zombie attacks sounded so improbable - but there had to be some way of trying to warn them of the danger they were in. Surely she could do something more than just wait and hope with crossed fingers?

xxxxxxxxxx

Tim exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall of the gymnasium.

"Nah," he said eventually. "They won't believe you. Why the hell would they? It sounds like a stupid B-movie."

"Yes, I know, but now we're in the stupid B-movie, and people are dying," said Amber. "And I don't want to be the pretty girl who stands around and screams helplessly while the monsters come after her. There must be something I can do, Tim. I can't just stand around and let this happen."

"They won't believe you."

"But I have to try, don't I?"

"Sure, you can try. And hell, don't get me wrong, I admire you for wanting to. But you know as well as I do that nobody's going to listen until it's way too late. You can scream danger at them until you're blue in the face, and they won't listen until they've got zombie jaws clamped around their ankles. That's people for you."

"Then they're stupid," Amber said fiercely. "Why can't they see what's happening?"

Tim unfolded his arms and let them hang at his sides.

"You already know the answer to that one, Amb," he said. "They don't want to. They're scared, or stubborn, or just naïve. They don't want to believe that there's something nasty lurking under the pretty surface of the lives they live, so they just block it out and pretend it doesn't exist, or hope it'll go away. They close their eyes and hope for the best. What else can they do?"

"They can listen, can't they?"

"Some might. Not enough, though. Like you said, most people aren't that smart. They don't put two and two together, and half the time when they do, they get five. Or twenty-two. You're one of the few people lucky enough to have a nice big picture instead of the narrow view most others get."

"Even I don't know that much. Only what the STARS told me."

"Then you're fortunate enough to see trouble coming. Means you can prepare for it a little better than everyone else."

"Tim…"

"Yeah, I know. You want to save the world. Well, go ahead and keep fighting. But try to keep a low profile so you don't look too crazy. If people think you're crazy then they'll lose interest. Look at Offbeat Oscar, down in the cells. He's been talking to the walls for a straight twelve hours now. Custody sergeant paid attention for about two. Now he just tunes it out."

"How's Crazy Jeb doing?"

"I think he's pretending to _be _the walls. Must have got bored and decided to mess with the guy's head a little. Poor Oscar. I don't think he's on the same planet as the rest of us."

"Sometimes I wonder if maybe the crazy people are the only ones who really see things clearly, and it's just the rest of us who don't notice what they pay attention to."

"You ever think that maybe seeing clearly is what drove them crazy in the first place?"

"Interesting point. Maybe that's why Crazy Jeb drinks so much. To block out whatever it is he sees all day."

They both paused to consider this.

"Actually, no, I think he just really likes drinking," said Tim, after a moment. "He says you meet more interesting people that way. Mostly under bridges and in trashcans, granted, but he seems happy the way he is."

"He sounds like he needs help."

"Hey, I offered it, but he's not taking. Says he's fine and if he wasn't, he'd be the first to know about it. I told him he can come back and ask for me if he wants some help getting off the bathtub vodka, but there's a limit to what you can do for people if they don't want your help."

"Doesn't mean you should stop trying, though."

"No, you're right. And if he ever decides he doesn't want to live in a cardboard box any more, then I'll help him get off the streets if I can. But you can't ram help down people's throats when they don't want it. Make an offer and leave it open, that's my advice. If they don't take it, that's their lookout."

"I feel like I need to do a little more than that."

"What, barge into the bad guys' headquarters with all guns blazing? I'd give you ten seconds before security took you down. Then who's going to help all those people?"

Amber made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

"Rrrgh! Damn it, Tim, you know what I mean, don't you? Look, I know what's going on around here, but those people out there don't know what I know. And I'm worried that's going to get them killed."

"You really want my advice?"

"Yeah."

"Well, just keep doing what you're doing. Tell people there's trouble around. You don't have to tell them exactly what kind. Tell them what signs they need to watch out for, and what they need to do to keep themselves safe. Offer them whatever advice and help you can, and try to persuade them to leave town if things start to escalate. Rest is up to them."

"I know. I know I can't do much else right now. I just… feel so responsible for people's safety."

"You are, but so am I, and so is everyone else in the precinct. And so are they. Helping people is one thing, but you can't run around trying to babysit every person in the city. People have to be responsible for their own safety too. They can't just outsource it to the authorities whenever things go wrong."

"I don't know how you can be so - so - "

"Sensible? Rational? Reasonable?"

Amber gave up.

"I hate it when you do this to me, Tim."

"I know. I only do it because I care. You're a good friend and I'm glad someone cares about people the way you do. But keep on like this and you're going to drive yourself insane. You're not Super-Cop, okay? You're one person and one person can only do so much. Just keep up the good work. You're doing fine."

"Are you sure?" she said, turning to look straight at him.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Really and truly."

She stared at him for a long time, but saw nothing reveal itself in his face. If he was hiding any true feelings on the matter, then he had the kind of acting talent for which Hollywood studio executives would bend over backwards.

"Hmm," she said. "Well, I guess we'll see if I'm doing any good soon enough. Come on, we'd better get back to work. Ten minutes' time out is probably all we can get away with right now."

xxxxxxxxxx

She'd guessed correctly. Ten minutes was all they had time for time out that day. Three more attacks followed in quick succession that afternoon, all violent attacks on members of the public. Two of them had been attacked by family or friends, people they knew - the third was an accountant who'd been accosted by a random stranger outside his Brentford office and had been found bleeding in the gutter by a passer-by.

She'd thought it was over, as she and her current companion, Sergeant Carlsen, who'd switched places with Rita on the shift change, drove back in the direction of the precinct. But just as Brentford receded into the distance behind them, another crackly pronouncement issued from the police radio.

"_Calling all units, we have a domestic assault at 1152 Templeton Street, Newbury. Victim is believed to be a small child. All units, please respond immediately."_

A few even more crackly responses followed from other patrol cars, but it was apparent right away that they were the closest unit in the area.

"Crap, that's us. We're up," announced Carlsen. "Hang onto your panties, Bernstein…"

"You sexist - whaaaaaaah!"

Amber clutched the dashboard, shrieking, as Carlsen executed a sharp handbrake turn and put the car into a 180-degree spin, almost knocking a passing motorcyclist into a street sign. A couple of cars swerved to get out of their way, honking angrily as they passed.

Without even waiting for the tyres to stop screeching, Carlsen took off again, flicking on the sirens and lights and racing the patrol car back in the direction they just came.

"You're on the wrong side of the street, you idiot!" Amber bellowed, over the sound of rushing wind, emergency sirens and the panicked drivers they were heading towards. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Shut up!"

Carlsen shoved the steering wheel right in a bad-tempered fashion, knocking the car back into the correct lane.

"There, happy now? Now pipe down and let me drive!" he barked.

"I would actually like to get to the emergency in one piece, you know!" Amber wanted to snap, but she bit back the words and let her frustration hiss through her teeth instead.

She hadn't been in a squad car with Carlsen before, since Elliot Edward was his usual patrol partner, but she got the feeling that until now this had been a lucky escape. Carlsen drove like a maniac, gesticulating wildly at other vehicles he'd narrowly avoided crashing into and hollering comments about their mothers as he left the chaos behind him.

On the plus side, Carlsen was at least making good time. Within five minutes, they'd hopped from one end of Brentford to another. Another minute later, they were in Newbury, tearing through a set of red lights.

"Where's Templeton?"

"Turn right at St Ignatius and then second left after the lights," said Amber.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Joseph's parents live down that way," she replied. "Not on Templeton, a couple of blocks over, but - "

"Okay, enough with the personal info already! I don't really care where your dead boyfriend's parents live. Not like they're going to be your in-laws now anyway. Just tell me where the hell I'm supposed to be going!"

Normally she would have been more upset. However, it had been a long day. Too long, in fact. After several unpleasant emergency callouts, she was all out of patience.

She slammed her hand on the dashboard. Carlsen gave a start, and looked across at her.

"What?"

"You know perfectly well what, Carlsen! Now you can either apologise for what you just said, or I can give you directions into the _river _on the way back! Either way, I've had enough of your crap! You hear me?"

"All right! I'm sorry," he said, throwing his hands up and then slamming them back down onto the wheel. "Look, it's been a long friggin' day and I've had enough. I've arrested five people today and they all resisted arrest. One of them resisted arrest so hard, my _kids _will probably have boot-prints on their balls. Now can we please get to the damn emergency?"

"Well, you're driving pretty fast for someone who doesn't know where they're going! Look, the church is right over there. Turn right. Right! I said _right_!"

"All right, just shut up!"

Templeton Street, when they finally arrived in a rush of sirens and blue-red lights, was much as she remembered. This part of the neighbourhood was mostly trees and smart town-houses which looked a little like downtown's brownstone apartment blocks. Some of them even had front lawns, albeit the kind you could cover with a small tablecloth.

The house at number 1152 looked no different from its neighbours. It looked neat, clean, cared-for. There were new blinds in the windows and little flower-boxes on the windowsills full of bright pink and red flowers. There weren't crowds of concerned neighbours gathering outside to see what was wrong, as you often saw in downtown when something had happened in their street. From the outside, everything looked normal.

But something sounded wrong. There was a high-pitched noise coming from inside the house. When Carlsen shut off the sirens, Amber could hear the sound properly. Inside, a small child was screaming. She might have expected a crying baby or a toddler having a tantrum, because that was the kind of sound you heard outside family homes once in a while, but this was hysterical, terrified shrieking.

"Come on, let's go," she ordered. "Carlsen, you take point."

They got out of the car and rushed across the street, into the yard. Carlsen ran up the front steps and hammered on the front door.

"This is the RPD!" he announced loudly. "Open the door!"

There was no response. The only thing they could hear was the screaming, which seemed to go on without end. Amber felt her stomach twist with dread.

"Police! Open up!" Carlsen shouted again.

"Carlsen, get that door open," she told him, reaching for her gun.

For once, Carlsen didn't seem ready to argue. He nodded. Amber watched him take out his gun. He tried the door once, and then again, twice. It was locked and didn't budge.

Some people counted to three before taking a shoulder-charge to a locked door, but Carlsen didn't bother. He simply took a step backwards and went straight into it, barging his way through like an impatient bull. The door gave way and came off one hinge, hanging from the other. He knocked aside the wreckage of the front entrance and hurried into the hall, with Amber following closely behind.

"This is the police!" he hollered. "Stay where you are! Get down on the ground!"

There was nobody in the hall. No sign of a commotion. Everything was neat save for the debris from the doorway. Were it not for the noise, all would have seemed fine; it was so loud that it was hard to tell where it was issuing from. It seemed to be coming from every direction at once.

"Search the house," Amber mouthed.

"I'll take that door."

Amber nodded, and they separated. Carlsen went to try the door nearest the front of the house, which looked like the living room. Amber took the door down the hall.

It was already ajar, but she pushed it open. It was the kitchen. A much more stylish kitchen than the one that came with her apartment - this one was all granite work surfaces, stainless steel appliances and terracotta floor tiles. There was a bright pink orchid growing in a pot on the windowsill. Everything looked clean and tidy. No sign of anything strange.

An arched doorway to one side led through to a dining room. It had a glass-topped dinner table and some chairs which matched the dark wooden frame. There were long translucent net curtains at the window, some pieces of modern art on the walls, a dresser. Again, nothing had been disturbed and everything looked clean and orderly.

"Nothing," she called. "You?"

She could hear talking from the other room, the one Carlsen had entered.

"… _All right, lady, don't move. You're under arrest. Put your hands where I can see them, and - what the - holy SHIT!" _

She heard a terrible scream, this time the sound of a woman, and then a cry from Carlsen. Her instinct was to stiffen and stay where she was, but somehow she managed to break through the panic response, running back into the hallway and through the door that Carlsen had thrown open.

She almost dropped her gun in shock when she saw what was through the doorway.

"Oh my - Carlsen!"

The room was covered in blood. It was everywhere - splashed across the TV screen and fireplace, soaking into the cushions on the expensive leather couch, dabbed in bloody handprints on the walls and in footprints on the polished hardwood floor.

There was no sign of the screaming child, but in the centre of the was a woman in her seventies. She was groaning and her face, hands and dress were covered in blood. She was trying to grab Carlsen by the shoulders, smearing blood all over his shirt as she lashed out at him.

"Get off me!" he yelled, pushing her over. "What the hell is wrong with you? Now you stay down and don't move! I'm placing you under arrest!"

But she didn't stay down. She got up again, slowly, as though it hurt to move. Carlsen warned her again to lie down on the floor, keeping his gun trained on her, but then she suddenly went berserk again and lunged at his face, snarling like an animal.

"What in the name of -?"

Carlsen struggled with her for another moment, but as Amber put away her gun and rushed to help, the old woman somehow managed to catch him off-balance and knocked him over. He stumbled back into the couch and fell down into the bloody cushions. The old woman reached out for him again, going for his throat and trying to drag him to the floor.

"Get off me, you crazy old bitch!" screamed Carlsen, as he tried to kick out at her. "Argh! Help!"

Amber grabbed the woman by the shoulders and tried to pull her off him, but the old lady seemed to shrug off the manoeuvre as though it was nothing. Not to be outdone by someone over three times her age, Amber grabbed hold of her again, this time trying to prise the woman's fingers from around Carlsen's neck and shoulders.

The woman turned round, giving Amber a brief, horrible glimpse of filmy white eyes and blood-stained teeth, then rounded on her.

This time it was Amber who found herself trying to fight off the old lady. It should have been a very one-sided affair. Unfortunately, and inexplicably, it was the wrong side. Nobody the old woman's age should have had that kind of strength. And those teeth were getting perilously close to her neck. There was no more room for doubt as to what was behind this incident.

Amber flailed around, looking for something with a little more weight than her nightstick, then grabbed a lamp from the end-table behind her.

"All right, that's enough!" she yelled, brandishing it like a club, then hit the old lady as hard as she could.

The attack should have floored a normal person, but the woman absorbed the blow to her head as though she'd been struck by nothing more harmful than a wet sponge. She gave a snarl, and redoubled her efforts to sink her teeth into Amber's neck.

"You know what, I'm sick of this crap," said Carlsen, a trifle shrilly. "You think this counts as resisting arrest?"

Amber struggled to hold the groaning woman at arm's length as red-stained teeth snapped towards her throat.

"Uh… she's trying to _eat _us, I'd say that's a yes…!"

"Well I've had it with people resisting arrest today!" he yelled, raising his gun. "Hey, lady! You have one more chance to let go of Lieutenant Bernstein! Now drop her right now! Do it now or I'll shoot!"

Amber really wanted to roll her eyes, but all her energy was occupied in keeping the old woman's bloodied jaws as far away from her as possible.

"Damn it, Carlsen, just do it! She's already dead!" she said, grunting with the effort of trying to hold her back.

"She _what_?"

"_Just do it!"_

With the last of her remaining strength, Amber wrenched free and pushed the woman backwards into the hall. She dashed to the other end of the living room and safety, looking back just as Carlsen pulled the trigger.

The shot hit the old woman in the shoulder. It made her take a step backwards, as though the force caught her off-balance, but had no other obvious effect. She kept coming, raising her arms up towards Carlsen.

"What the hell, seriously, what the _hell_?" he said, his expression shot through with panic once again. "Lady, I already told you, don't move! You shouldn't even be moving! A shot like that should have knocked you off your feet, you should be - !"

Amber took a step backwards, but stepped on something soft and cried out. She looked down. Beside her foot was a pile of books which had fallen from an overturned bookcase. Just poking out from beneath the torn cover of a paperback were the fingertips of a tiny hand.

"Oh no…"

Her heart jumped into her throat as she dug through the pile and uncovered the limp form of a small boy, aged no more than two. He'd stopped screaming and now lay lifeless and pale on the floor. There were savage bites on his face and left hand, and his blond curls and little blue dungarees were soaked in blood.

"Oh, no, no," she moaned, picking the little boy up and feeling for a pulse. There was one, but so weak she could almost have missed it. She scooped him up from the floor and held him close to her chest.

"Oh, thank God. Carlsen, we need to get him out of here!"

Carlsen, however, was still yelling at the old lady not to move. His instructions were falling on deaf, dead ears. She was still lurching forward, rasping wordlessly at him.

"Carlsen, we have to get him to safety!" Amber shouted across the room at him. "If we don't leave now, he's a goner for sure!"

"I - "

"Carlsen! We've got to go! Now!"

Carlsen looked even more panicked. He looked around, as if for a solution to his crisis. Seeing nothing that might help, he raised his voice in warning once more to the old woman. When she failed to heed the words and made another snatch for him, missing narrowly, he seemed to decide enough was enough, and pulled the trigger again.

This time the bullet's aim was straight and true. With one final, burbling groan, the old woman pitched straight backwards and collapsed against the open door. Blood oozed slowly from the neat round bullet-hole in her forehead.

"What the hell was - ?"

"Carlsen!" she interrupted him.

He looked down at the small body in Amber's arms, and his face drained almost instantly.

"We have to get out of here," he said urgently, and made a dash for the corridor. "Man, this is going to look _awful _in the paperwork. I can't believe I couldn't even subdue an old lady. More than that… oh shit, I shot her dead! I killed her! The Chief's going to have me thrown out of the force for sure!"

"It's not so bad when you get used to it, Carlsen," said Amber, keeping pace with him as they left through what remained of the front door. "In fact I'm kind of glad it's not just me any more…"

She didn't really give a damn about how it would look in the paperwork. All she could think about was that there was a dying child in her arms.

She didn't know what to do. If what Jill had told her about the T-Virus was true, then the kid was already infected, and would soon die. STARS had told her that you had to shoot them in the head or, preferably, decapitate them to make sure they stayed dead. But what could she do? Much as she didn't want the poor kid to suffer, she couldn't exactly shoot a toddler in the head. What was she going to say? That it was self-defence?

And every duty and maternal instinct and bone in her body was screaming at her that he was a _child_, a little boy who needed her help, and she had to take care of him. Because that was her job. To protect and serve the public, and stop more kids from dying before they could even have a chance to grow old.

She looked down at the unconscious little face, too pale and stained all over with red, so badly bitten that she feared his own mother might not recognise him even when all the blood was wiped away.

"There has to be a cure, doesn't there?" she said desperately. "Something… they wouldn't have made something with no antidote, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Bernstein?"

"Shut up," she said wildly, starting to breathe harder. Her chest was starting to tighten up with panic. "Come on, we - we have to find someone, we have to get him somewhere safe!"

"Are you even sure he's going to make it? We…"

"We have to do something!" she screamed, almost right in his face. "Look at him, damn it! He's going to die!"

Carlsen looked even more shaken.

"Where's the ambulance? They said there was going to be an ambulance here! Where is it? Th-they can't be far, right?"

She was too frightened to cry, but she wanted to. The sobs were there. They just weren't coming out. She clutched the child a little more tightly. She was almost afraid to loosen her grip on him.

"Where are they?" said Carlsen again. His hands were starting to shake. "Where? Where are they?"

"You know what? I don't know, Carlsen! Maybe you should ask them!"

He nodded.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. Okay, uh…."

Carlsen hurried over to the patrol car to use the radio. As he shouted instructions to Control, Amber looked down at the little boy. He was barely breathing; he was clinging on to life as hard as he could, but it was slipping away by seconds.

"It's okay, kid," she said, holding him a little closer. "I've got you. You're safe here with me, don't worry. I won't let you go."

The moment she said the words, she realised how stupid they were. She couldn't save him and she knew it. Whatever happened now, he'd end up dead. But all the same, she couldn't bring herself to put him down on the ground and admit that it was over, and that she'd failed. No matter what the odds told her, she couldn't just give up on the kid without even trying to save him… somehow…

One or two people out in the street had stopped in their tracks, and were staring across the road at the police car, and Carlsen, who was yelling at the radio. Amber realised they were staring at her, too. Of course they were. She had an unconscious kid in her arms and she was covered in blood that wasn't hers. She would have stared too.

A silver car pulled up alongside the sidewalk, about fifty yards away from where Carlsen was standing. The driver was a blonde woman of about thirty. She turned off the ignition and made as though to get out, but when she looked up and saw what was going on through the windscreen, she froze. Her mouth moved for a moment, then, suddenly, she flung open the driver's side door and scrambled out of the car.

"What's going on?" she cried, looking across at them. "What happened?"

"Ma'am, do you live here?" Carlsen yelled, from half-inside the patrol car.

But she ignored him. She'd seen what was in Amber's arms. She gave an agonised scream and rushed over, almost tripping in her high heels as she ran down the sidewalk towards Amber.

"Cody! Cody!"

She grabbed the child from Amber's arms and clutched him frantically, bursting into tears before Amber could say another word.

"Oh my God, what happened?" she sobbed. "Is he going to be okay? Please, somebody call an ambulance!"

"There's one on its way, ma'am," Carlsen shouted from inside the car. "It'll be here any second. Do you live here?"

"Y-yes, I'm Linda Haywood, we live here," said the blonde, stroking her son's blood-drenched hair. She was crying so hard she could barely speak. "I was at work! My mom was babysitting for me… I never even got a call, I don't understand… what happened? Is - is she okay?"

Amber heard a tiny, almost inaudible expletive from inside the patrol car.

"Ma'am, we were responding to an emergency call from one of the neighbours," Amber began. Her voice was faltering. She hoped it didn't show. "We got here and found your son lying on the floor in the house. We believe your mother may have attacked him."

The woman gasped.

"What? No, that's not possible! My mother's seventy-eight! She has a heart condition! She couldn't attack somebody even if she tried! And she'd never hurt Cody! He's her grandson, and we've always been such a close family, she never - !"

"Ma'am, I know this must be hard for you to hear, but there was nobody else in the house. No sign of a break-in or forced entry of any kind. Furthermore, when we entered the house she violently assaulted both myself and Sergeant Carlsen, resisted arrest and in fact tried to kill us both. Unfortunately my colleague was forced to defend himself and, well, your mother - I'm sorry to have to tell you this, ma'am, but she's dead."

The child's mother gave another little shriek.

"No, no! This isn't possible… my mother would never hurt anybody! She wouldn't do that! This can't be happening! Mom! Mom!"

She ran inside, screaming her mother's name, but when she got inside and saw what Amber and Carlsen had seen, the screaming intensified in volume.

"MOM!" they heard her howl from inside the house.

Carlsen groaned.

The sound of sirens, faint at first, then louder, approached from somewhere westwards, and then a speeding ambulance tore to a halt a few yards down the street. Two paramedics leapt out of the back of the vehicle as it stopped, carrying armfuls of emergency equipment, and ran over to the house before either Amber or Carlsen had a chance to warn them what was ahead.

"Two down, an old lady and a kid," Carlsen called after them, getting out of the patrol car.

They heard a "thanks!" from somewhere inside the house as they disappeared.

"Hey," said Carlsen, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You all right, Bernstein?"

Amber hadn't noticed how much she was shaking. She was trembling like a leaf in a cold wind. She tried to grab her arms and control it, but the shivering wouldn't stop.

"Carlsen, he's going to die," she found herself saying. "There's nothing we can do, is there?"

Carlsen bit his upper lip.

"I don't know. Maybe. You seemed to think he might be okay, though. Maybe you should hold onto that thought. Hell, who knows, it might do him some good if someone thinks he can make it."

"We should go check on her," said Amber. "The mom, I mean. She shouldn't be alone right now."

"Mom's dead, kid's in bad shape - yeah, I'd say that's a good call. I think I'd need somebody right now if I was in her shoes."

They went up the front steps to the house and followed the trail of blood drops back inside. One of the paramedics was trying to comfort the woman as she sat on the stairs, while the other tended to the child in her arms.

"… all right, Ms Haywood, we're going to have to take him to the hospital, he's lost a lot of blood and he needs immediate treatment," the first paramedic, a young woman with a ponytail, was explaining to her.

"Can I come with him?" the mother pleaded. "Please, I don't want to leave him alone - "

"No, of course, I'm sure he'd want you to be there. Steve, how's he doing?"

"BP's dropping, we need to get him in right away."

"Okay. Ms Haywood, if you - "

"He's not breathing! Oh God!" wailed Ms Haywood suddenly. "Please, help him!"

"He's crashing! Sarah, get him some oxygen!"

"Oh God! Help! Someone help him!"

But it was too late. After a few moments' struggle, the paramedics had to concede defeat.

"He's gone," said the second paramedic. "I'm sorry, Ms Haywood. There's nothing more we can do."

The woman stared at him for a moment in wild, uncomprehending desolation, then she started to scream. She picked up her little boy, holding him close to her breast, and screamed, over and over, from the very bottom of her lungs, as though she didn't know what else to do. It was the most terrible sound Amber had heard in all her life.

"Why couldn't you have saved him?" she said at last, and broke down in tears. "Why did he have to die? _He was only a baby_!"

She started to sob the great heart-rending sobs of the utterly heartbroken.

"We're so sorry, ma'am," said the first paramedic.

She had a look of guilt on her face. Amber knew she must have been wondering what else she could have done to save the kid; the same thought was going through her own head.

"Was the mom talking to us?" said Carlsen, _sotto voce_.

"You think she was?"

Carlsen stared at the grief-stricken mother, then closed his eyes and turned his back, not wanting to see any more.

"I think we should go," he said. "There's nothing more we can do here."

Amber agreed. She spoke quietly for a moment or two to the paramedics, taking them to one side, then to the woman, expressing her condolences. The woman was shaking and crying so hard that she barely seemed to notice Amber's words of sympathy, or give more than one-word answers to the few questions she had remaining.

"Will she be okay with you?" Amber asked, turning to the female paramedic.

The woman nodded.

"Yeah, we'll take care of her. We're going to bring her in as a precaution. She may be suffering from delayed-onset shock, and we want to check her out for any signs of that weird illness that's been going around. It sounds like her mom may have been suffering from it and we want to make sure she hasn't spread it to her or other family members. "

"Good idea," said Amber. "Just don't let her too near you - and whatever you do, don't let her injure you in any way."

"Not to worry, officer. We're used to difficult patients and we've seen our fair share of violent behaviour. We'll be fine."

They waited around for a short while, watching on the doorstep as the grief-stricken mother was led out of the property, still holding her child and refusing to put him down or hand him over to anyone.

"What's this world coming to?" said Carlsen bleakly. "It's like everything's changed. This whole city. It never used to be like this. Where is it going to end?"

"I don't know," said Amber. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Hate to admit it, but it's starting to scare me."

"Me too."

Without either of them saying a word, each reached out for the hand of the other.


End file.
